


The Handler

by starthief



Series: The Handler [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BDSM, Belly Rubs, Blood, Body Worship, Canon Compliant if you believe, Choking, Chubby Kink, Dom/sub Play, Drag, Fat fetish, Feminization, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, M/M, Objectification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Pain, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Spanking, Stuffing, Time Travel, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, chubby!bucky, cold war au, drag!Steve, fat appreciation, fixit, hydra!bucky, hydra!cap, smoking tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: POST AE: WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN AVENGERS: ENDGAME. THIS FIC CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS. (real summary is in the notes)





	1. Steve POV

**Author's Note:**

> This one is DARK you guys. Read the warnings. It has a happy ending, but our boys have to sort through a whole bunch of muck first. There’s mentioned past sexual assault and rape of Bucky under HYDRA, and a very anti-semitic comment (k slur) in the first chapter.  
> I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while, but after I saw Engame (T_T) I realized that I could modify it for canon divergence. (This is kind of a combination of my Handler AU and Whatever It Takes, but it stands alone from either of those).  
> This is basically the post-endgame stucky fixit everyone’s writing, but with weight gain kink. Enjoy!

_ East Germany, 1970 _

 

She’d been so glad to see that he was alive. 

_ “Well, I owe you a dance, don’t I?”  _ he’d asked her as he dropped the needle and the record began to spin. He’d waited in her house until she got back from work. He took her hands, and they swayed in time. She rested her head on his chest. He’d wanted to say something clever, but now that he was finally here, he found that his words were caught in his throat. 

_ “I ought to tell you something,” _ she’d whispered, when they weren’t even through the second verse.

_ “I know _ ,” he’d responded. He spied the ring on her finger right away.

She told him about Daniel, and he was glad, really. He might’ve smiled a little too tightly, avoided her eyes a little too much, but when the song ended she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.

_ “I’m glad we had this dance, Steve. But I don’t think you belong here.” _

And she was right. She always was. As much as it hurt to hear it, he knew that wasn’t his place. He couldn’t belong with her anymore. But he never felt like he’d belonged in the 21st century, either. He was a man with no home and no time.

But Bucky, Sam, and Bruce were waiting for him in 2023, and even if he’d never belong entirely in either world, he didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

Peggy let him use her bathroom, and he changed back into his time travel suit. His finger was directly on the button on the forearm, but the second before he pressed it, he’d spotted something on Peggy’s TV.

It was a broadcast of negotiations of an agreement between East Germany, Poland, and Czechoslovakia, but that wasn’t what caught Steve’s attention. In the corner of Peggy’s 12 inch wooden cabinet TV in grainy pixels, Steve spotted Bucky’s face. Or, the Winter Soldier, to be exact. 

He’d gotten to East Germany as quickly as possible. Peggy had helped, getting him a plane ride with her connections. Every instinct within him was telling him to run into the Kremlin Senate, find Bucky, and take him somewhere far away where he could help him recover his memories. But he knew he had to be careful about things. 

It pained him to even consider the possibility, but on the elevator, a simple  _ hail Hydra _ had gotten him out of another unnecessary fight. And if he could use the evil organization for even some good, he was sure as hell going to try. 

He’d discovered that HYDRA had a base in Berlin, and thanks to more of Peggy’s help, he’d managed to get a job a low-security clearance intern. Months had passed by without a sighting of the Winter Soldier, and Steve was beginning to worry that he’d gotten involved with a Nazi organization in vain. 

Then one day in late November, an alarm began blaring throughout level 4. 

Steve was at his desk, typing a dictation, when the pulsing red light filled the hallway, the sirens following a moment later. 

“ _ Was ist das? _ ” Steve asked the agent giving dictation.

He was shouting at someone down the hall. Steve understood the word  _ emergency,  _ then a moment later,  _ winter soldat.  _

Steve stood, getting the attention of his superior. “Sir. I’ve been working with you for four months now. I’m ready to prove my allegiance to your cause.” He gave the HYDRA salute. 

Herr Wagner narrowed his eyes. Steve was worried that he’d forced his hand too much, but fortunately, Wagner seemed afraid of the Winter Soldier. Not that Steve could blame him.

He nodded, handing his badge to Steve. “Take the elevator down to level -2 and tell the guard I sent you,” he told Steve in his clipped accent. Steve moved to take the badge from him, and Wagner used it as an opportunity to get close in Steve’s face. “Do not disappoint us,” he growled.

Steve nodded. “Nien, herr Wagner.” The officer sat back in his chair in relief, and Steve made his way to the elevator. He’d never been below the ground before, and his heart was pounding with the possibility that he might see Bucky.

Steve put Wagner’s badge into the lock next to the elevator and pressed down. The light turned green, and after a moment the doors opened and Steve stepped inside. All the buttons for the sub-surface levels were red. Steve felt his stomach churn as he pressed -2.

The doors opened to a hallway. Directly in front of the elevator, two guards stood outside a heavily locked door. They wore black tactical suits with the red patch on the sleeve. Steve had to clench his jaw tightly to keep from reacting. Upstairs, everyone wore business suits under the guise of the ‘research facility’ where Steve was hired. Here, the true nature of the beast could be seen.

“ _ Wer hat dich geschickt? _ ” The guard on the left asked, but Steve didn’t understand. 

“Uh… Herr Wagner,” he responded, showing the badge. “ _ Winter soldat?” _

The guards looked at each other, and the one on the right chuckled. “ _ Viel glück _ ,” he remarked as Steve was frisked for weapons. Steve’s stomach sank. He was pretty sure the man had told him  _ good luck. _

The guard on the right put a code into the lock pad, but Steve couldn’t see it. The door buzzed and then opened into another dark hallway. Steve stepped through, and the door locked behind him.

_ Okay, calm down, _ he reminded himself.  _ It’s just Bucky. This is what you’ve been waiting for. You’ll be okay. _

As he walked, he heard chains rattle. There were no doors on either side of the hall, or bars, or cells. Steve was beginning to think he’d been tricked when he saw a shadow in the dim light. 

He pulled his flashlight out of his pocket and shone it at the corner. A figure launched itself at Steve, and he stepped back just in time. Chains pulled tight and he heard a choking sound as the figure fell back to the ground.

It took the shape a moment to recover, and while it rested, Steve saw. There was blood on the tiled walls and a drain in the middle of the floor. The man was wet, with blood and water and other substances, and he was restrained by a chain that was attached at one end to his neck, and bolted to the floor at the other. His hands were zip-tied behind his back. The red light of a camera blinked in the corner, and Steve knew he couldn’t show his hand.

He bent down to the figure. “Hey… uh,  _ Ich werde dir nicht schaden _ …” he said, telling the man he wouldn’t hurt him. 

The man was crouched on the floor, long hair covering his face, and he looked up into Steve’s eyes. Steve wanted to mourn and rejoice at the same time. It was Bucky, all right. But there was something missing from his eyes, something that wasn’t when Steve saw him on the bridge, either. But it was his Bucky.

His hair was longer than Steve had ever seen it, almost past his chest. He had a few days of stubble on his chin, and a few cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. He was half undressed, wearing only pants and a few empty gun holsters. Dried blood was caked into the seams of his metal arm, a proud red skull with tentacles decorating the shoulder. It seemed that he’d come back from a mission and was in the process of being washed when something went wrong. There was a hose laying on the ground close to the wall, and as Steve aimed his flashlight in that direction, he could see more blood, and what looked to be some hair and chunks of skin. Bucky was in rough shape, but it didn’t look like it came from him. 

The alarm had stopped a while ago, and the system rebooted as the lights in the shower came back on, six fluorescents on the ceiling that made Bucky wince and squint.

Steve put his flashlight back in his pocket, showing Bucky his hands. “ _ Ich werde dir nicht schaden _ ,” he repeated, but Bucky made no sign he understood.

Steve turned his back on Bucky to walk over to the hose, trusting the chain bolted to the ground more than anything. He fiddled with the knobs for a moment before a strong spray of water came out. He lowered the pressure and waited for the water to heat up before fixing the hose back onto the clamp on the wall, hoping that if Bucky put himself under the stream, it might be better than being sprayed in a corner. 

Steve turned back to Bucky. He was standing with his back in the opposite corner, feet spread wide and a snarl on his face. Steve realized with dismay that he would have to remove the rest of Bucky’s clothes if he wanted to wash him properly. He stepped toward Bucky, and Bucky’s eyes flew wide.

“Уходи!” he spat at Steve, in what he assumed to be Russian.

_ Fuck _ , Steve thought. He didn’t know any Russian, except…

“ _ Dobroye utro, soldat,”  _ Steve said, clumsily repeating the words he remembered from Bucky’s conditioning with Zemo. 

Bucky stood straighter, but he still seemed confused.

“I have to take off your pants, okay?” Steve told him pointlessly. He remembered when he’d have asthma attacks years ago, Bucky would just hold him and speak to him until he could breathe again. Even if Bucky couldn’t understand, it was better than silence. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here now.” He took a few more steps toward Bucky, still showing his palms, like he was trying to corner a feral cat. He was within reach of the chain, now, and Bucky could’ve killed him if he wanted to. He relaxed a little, figuring he would have already. Steve stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch him. Bucky was still eyeing him warily. Steve reached out to unbuckle the gun harness on his back, and then Bucky moved. 

He jumped forward onto Steve again, immediately throwing both of them onto the ground. Steve knew that he was being watched, and he stopped himself from using his full strength. Instead, he rolled out from under the brunet, putting a knee to his back to keep him pinned to the ground. Bucky thrashed with his legs and tied arms, but he was restrained in too many places to get up. Steve undid his arm first, releasing the prosthetic from where it attached to his mechanical shoulder. It swung to the ground with a heavy  _ thunk, _ still tied to his right wrist. Bucky swung it at Steve’s head, and he ducked just in time, pinning his organic arm to the ground with his other knee. Bucky grunted, and Steve dug his kneecap between the soldier’s shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he whispered, finally taking off the last of the clips and holsters. His pants still remained, and Steve opted to just pull them from his hips as hard as he could. As the pants flew off, Steve was thrown off balance enough for Bucky to regain his feet, crouching and lurching at Steve.

Steve backed away until he was out of range once more, and Bucky was choking and pulling at his collar. Steve winced as the sharp metal dug into the flesh of his neck.

Now completely naked, Steve could see how skinny Bucky was. It worried him, and the familiar guilt flooded him. It was better that he was rescuing him in 1970, instead of 2014, but he still wished he could have been there in 1945. 

The hose still ran, the water moving a slow sludge of blood down the drain. Steve took it off the wall, panting. He was too tired to try to coerce Bucky to wash himself, and it was warm and low-pressured enough not to hurt. 

_ Whatever you have to do, it’s a thousand times kinder than what the real HYDRA would do to him,  _ Steve reminded himself. He aimed the hose at Bucky.

The soldier hissed as the spray of water hit his cuts, turning his back to Steve to protect his vulnerable side. After Steve got him about as clean as he was going to, he took advantage of Bucky huddling in the corner. He pushed him against the wall with his left elbow, grabbing his right hand and slipping his metal arm out of the zip tie. There was a gap in one of the chains where Bucky had been pulling on a weak link, and he slipped the plastic tie inside. As soon as he released the brunet, he pulled tight on the chains, and his arm was secured behind him. He spun around and tried to kick Steve, but he lost his balance on the wet tile and fell to the ground.

His eyes were still wild, but he seemed too exhausted to attempt another attack. Steve had no way of knowing how long he was fighting before the alarm had gone off. He crouched next to him again, not caring that he was getting his own business slacks wet. He took Bucky’s hair in his hands, and Bucky gave a half-hearted growl, muttering something Russian under his breath Steve couldn’t hear.

He combed through his hair with his hands, wondering if 2023 Bucky might grow out his hair this long. Time wasn’t passing in the future as he was gone, he knew; he could put on his time travel suit and return at any moment and to the rest of the Avengers, he would’ve been gone for mere seconds. 

But each second that Steve spent in the past, it seemed less and less likely that he would want to return to the future. He’d always be friends with Bucky, and he was so proud of how far he’d come. But this Bucky  _ needed  _ him. Steve couldn’t be there for him when he’d needed him the most, but he could fix things now. He had no plan, no way of knowing what he was changing (or really, even how all this time travel business worked at all- both Bruce and Scott had explained it to him at length, but most of it was lost on him), but he had Bucky by his side. 

He almost seemed calm, unused to the affection he was receiving. HYDRA had clearly been giving him the most basic care possible, and his hair hadn’t been brushed in God knows how long. 

An indeterminate amount of time passed, where Steve could almost pretend that he wasn’t in a bloody shower in East Germany in 1970, then the door leading back to the hall with the elevator opened and Wagner stepped in. He eyed Steve, and the metal arm on the ground. 

As soon as Bucky saw Wagner, he reacted violently, lashing out and nearly kicking Steve in the face. Steve stood, and Wagner jerked his head in the direction of the elevator. Steve returned his badge, and they walked into the lift. Instead of pressing the button for level 4, though, Wagner took out a key and placed it in a separate panel. Steve felt the elevator begin to descend to an even deeper level.

“That was clever of you to take off his arm first,” Wagner commented.

“ _ Danke dir,  _ Sir,” Steve responded.

Wagner just kept eyeing him with one brow raised. “How did you know how to remove it?”

Steve shrugged lightly. “My Pa went off to Vietnam. While he was gone, I learned about cars and machines. It wasn’t that hard to figure out where the pieces connected.”

Wagner’s expression didn’t change at all, and Steve was silently praying to a God he was pretty sure didn’t care about him. “You did better than the last man.”

Steve thought back to the clumps of hair and skin. “What happened to him?”

Wagner didn’t answer. “The Winter Soldier is a very special agent of ours. As such, he requires very special care.” He turned his eyes to Steve once more. “Do you think you are equipped to be his Handler?”

Steve nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“It may cost you your life.”

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, Sir.”

Wagner nodded. “You’re a good boy. We rise in the shadows, becoming stronger. You can cut off one head, but two will grow in its place.” The elevator  _ ding _ ed and the doors opened to a briefing room, full of agents, computers, and strange equipment. “Welcome to HYDRA.”

 

\--

It had been two months since Steve had passed Wagner’s test. Every single time he saw Bucky, he wanted to cup his cheek, swear to him that they’d be free, and kill every man who got in their way. But he bided his time, swallowing the Nazi propaganda that was shoved down his throat, staying in the shadows himself.

_ Ironic, _ he thought.  _ All these years, HYDRA has infiltrated so many of our organizations. Now, I’m the one who’s finally one step ahead of them. _

It was a brutally cold morning in January of 1971 when Steve knew that his waiting was over. For months, he’d been caring for Bucky; cleaning him after missions, feeding him before missions, assisting with holding him down while he was briefed and debriefed. He wasn’t present for much of the conditioning, thankfully; Wagner had placed a team of doctors and scientists in charge of his mission operation. Steve’s job was to keep him alive in between missions, and he found that he lived for the moments when Wagner would stop him from whatever menial task he was occupying himself with and give him his badge. 

Wagner had done so a few minutes ago, and Steve had taken the elevator down to -2 and entered Bucky’s cell. When he wasn’t being washed or fed or conditioned, Bucky was kept in a room little better than a cage. Steve had been sneaking in more food along with his daily rations, and although Bucky was reluctant to willfully take anything from the blond at first, he’d patiently built up a sort of sense-trust with the man. When he brought down his meager portions and then handed Bucky an apple or some candy or whatever he managed to sneak from his own house, hoping that the guard on the other side of the camera was too busy to care, the soldier would snatch the food out of Steve’s hands and scarf it down.

Wagner had given Steve more instructions on Bucky’s care.  _ He’s a vile brute, there’s no need to brush his hair so gently. We’d keep it short, but the last man who tried had the scissors stuck in his eye.  _

_ We keep him hungry. He works better when there’s more incentive to return. _

_ Don’t worry about not hurting him when you pin him down. He heals quick. _

It pained Steve to see so much harm come to his dearest friend, and to know that he had something to do with it. But he felt better when he looked into those storm-blue eyes and saw recognition; not that Bucky remembered him as Steve, but at least as his Handler who hadn’t tried to rape him. Wagner had mentioned that, too, a couple of times; Steve’s stomach curdled as he tried not to punch the man right then and there.

_ These kike scum barely have souls. They should be honoured to be used for the glory of HYDRA. Feel free to use the soldier for your own needs- we do. _

He passed Bucky his bowl of grey porridge, and the brunet took it quickly. Before scattering back to his corner, he lingered by the bars, waiting for more.

Steve smiled and pulled a king-sized Snickers bar from his pocket. “Here ya go, pal. Cold out, huh?”

Bucky wasn’t provided clothes in the cell. Steve could see him shiver, although at least in the last two months he’d accumulated a bit more body fat. 

He took the bar and shuffled away, but not as far as he had before. He struggled for a moment with the wrapper before tearing it with his teeth, and Steve laughed, startling him.

“Oh, sorry. Don’t mind me,” the blond chuckled. He couldn’t explain that he’d seen Bucky do that exact thing many times; back in the 1940s when his one hand would be otherwise busy and Steve would hiss that he would ruin his teeth, and in the 21st century when his metal arm would be off and he would bring his organic hand up to his mouth to rip off plastic wrapping with his teeth (and Steve would still nag him to get scissors). “Good?” he asked absentmindedly, not expecting Bucky to respond.

“ _ Gut, _ ” Bucky grunted in German. 

Steve’s heart stopped. “ _ Ja?”  _ he asked.  _ “Du magst?” _ He prompted him further, hoping he might speak more. 

Steve dropped his voice down to the quietest whisper he could manage. “James?” he asked. He didn’t look up. “Bucky?” 

The soldier’s slate-blue eyes snapped to his, but his expression remained stony.

“Do you know who I am?” Steve asked, repeating himself in German and Russian next. He’d been picking up as much Russian as he could. It wasn’t easy without internet, and he had to be careful what he got at the library, lest he be arrested for contraband. Fortunately, he stayed in touch with Peggy, and she sent him encrypted telegrams every month.  _ ты знаешь меня, stop _ , he recalled.

“Вы обработчик,” he responded. Steve still couldn’t understand him, but he was speaking to him, which was better than before. The soldier went back to eating his breakfast.

“ _ Soldat, ты мне доверяешь _ ?”  _ Do you trust me _ ? 

Bucky blinked at him, but didn’t answer.

Steve knew Bucky had no reason to. He had to show him that he trusted him first. “ _ я доверяю тебе _ ,” he went on. He didn’t have a key to the cell. He looked around, and saw the camera in the corner. He took a deep breath, stood, and titled it downward so that it was fixed on the floor. “ _ я доверяю тебе _ ,” he repeated.  _ I trust you. _ He could see Bucky’s eyes on him in his peripheral vision.

“ _ Ruka,”  _ Bucky told him. Steve just blinked. “ _ Arm _ ,” the brunet tried.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “If I get you the arm, you will trust me?” he said slowly. Bucky didn’t respond, and Steve was forced to try.

They kept his arm in the briefing room with the rest of the weapons. Steve didn’t have clearance, but he knew he would have to find a way. He left the room, walking quickly back to the elevator. The guards weren’t posted in the basement anymore; Steve had never had a problem keeping Bucky restrained, so usually the two of them had the floor to themselves. 

Steve pressed the down button on the elevator after he put in Wagner’s badge, but the button flashed red. He needed the keys.

He swore under his breath, punching the panel. The glass shattered and wires fizzled, sparks flying in the air. The elevator began descending with a lurch, and after a moment, the doors opened. 

He was on a floor he didn’t recognize, but fortunately, there was no one around him. The room was filled with panels and panels of knobs, switches, and data inputs, all centered around a desk with a screen on it. With a small laugh, Steve realized that it was a computer. He thought back to just five months ago, he’d had a computer in his pocket the size of his hand, and ten times as capable. 

There was a door on the far wall, and upon opening it, it lead to a staircase. Steve quickly went down two flights until he found the floor he wanted. It was also vacant, and he took Bucky’s arm out of its case, not caring if the cameras were on. On his way back up, he walked through the computer room again. As he passed the monitor, he paused. 

_ Oh, what the hell, _ he thought, using Bucky’s detached arm as a bat against the computer, quickly reducing the room to a pile of broken circuitry and smoke.  _ Why do things in halves? _

He got back into the elevator, and jammed the button for the -2nd floor. Just as the doors opened again, another alarm went off. Steve picked up the fire hydrant from the wall and jammed it in between the doors, keeping them from shutting and (hopefully) keeping the elevator from leaving the floor.

He ran back to Bucky’s cage, where he sat on the floor, having finished his food.

“Arm,” Steve told him, handing it through the bars.

Bucky still looked confused, but he took it and attached it to the metal stump at his shoulder. 

“ _ я доверяю тебе,”  _ he said again. Bucky stood up, and Steve backed up to the doorway, giving the soldier plenty of room. The alarm was joined by another, high-pitched one as the building went into lockdown. A metal door began to descend at the end of the hallway. “Hury,” Steve urged Bucky.

The brunet stepped up to the bars, tested his arm by flexing his fingers, then braced his elbow on one bar, bending the adjacent pole with his fist. After the screech of metal, the bars bent enough for Bucky to squeeze through. He stood in front of Steve, nothing restraining him at all. Steve’s heart pounded in his chest. He wondered if Bucky could hear it with his enhanced hearing. 

Bucky passed him, crossing the threshold and bracing the metal door. With a grunt, he began to lift it back toward the ceiling. Steve rushed over to help, and Bucky gave him a look of surprise when the two of them managed to bend it out of the way. They ran to the elevator, and Steve began removing the hydrant.

“Niet,” Bucky barked. Steve was about to ask how else they would leave, but Bucky ran for the opposite hall. Steve had never been there before. 

It lead to a room split in half by a bulletproof glass wall. Bucky went into the side with a panel of switches and buttons, pointedly not looking at the other room with padded walls, containing only what looked like a dentist’s chair with a metal dome above it. Steve realized that it must be Bucky’s conditioning room.

Bucky threw a couple of switches, and a screen came to life. Bucky typed in a command in Russian, and a door Steve hadn’t seen opened in the back of the lab. Bucky motioned for Steve to follow him, and they passed through the door. It lead to another staircase, and they hurried up two flights of stairs.

Once they reached ground level, Bucky opened the door to another hallway. Steve heard shouts and hissed for Bucky to wait, but he didn’t listen.

“Dammit,” Steve grunted, running after Bucky. Six HYDRA agents came toward them with guns.

“ _ Soldat, halt!” _ One of them shouted.

Steve grabbed a door to a nearby room and ripped it off its hinges, flinging it at the agents. It hit two in the head before they got a chance to duck. Bucky rolled and kicked the legs of another one, bringing it to the ground and breaking their neck. Steve dodged a bullet, giving a roundhouse kick to the head of the agent holding the gun. Bucky picked up the gun and shot another agent in their forehead, and Steve took the last one and smashed their face into the wall. 

They looked at one another, panting for a moment. Steve could have sworn recognition flashed in Bucky’s eyes.

Then, there were more shouts from another direction. Steve looked either way. He could go left, or right. He was unfamiliar with this hallway, and he didn’t know which way to go.

Bucky pointed left. “ _ Idti _ !” he exclaimed.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked. 

Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes. “ _ Dover’tes’ mne.” _ Steve still could understand, but the look in Bucky’s eyes was all he needed to know. 

He nodded, and ran away from Bucky.

 

The hallway lead to a set of double-doors. Steve opened them into the lobby of the building, and he instantly knew where he was. All he had to do was cross the lobby, and he was safe. There was such a catastrophic rush going on, with the alarms and agents running back and forth, he figured he could sneak by unseen. Sure, about seven different cameras had captured his face, and he hadn’t tried very hard to be stealthy, but he could return to 2023 at any time. And Bucky could take care of himself… or, at least, he hoped. 

But he’d enjoyed taking care of him so much.

Even in the middle of the Cold War, in East Germany, Steve had been sleeping better than he had in years. Not like the five years after Thanos had given him any peace. He’d only ever had peace when Bucky was in his life, and he’d been taken from him so many times. He promised himself that the moment he returned to 2023, he’d give his Bucky a big hug. 

He crossed the lobby quickly and quietly, casting Wagner’s badge on the floor before he exited the HYDRA building.

He’d given them a fake address when he was hired, so he figured it was alright for him to return to the apartment he’d been using. It was a small one-room apartment above a bakery. The owner let him rent the space, and he paid her in cash on on the first of every month. 

It was shocking to see how relatively quiet the rest of Berlin was. Steve had no doubt that they’d come for him soon, but by the time they found out where he really lived, he’d be back in the future and they wouldn’t be able to touch him. He passed one officer on the way home, but fortunately he seemed to be USSR and not HYDRA. Steve kept his eyes down, and the agent didn’t stop him. 

_ It’s good to be blond and blue-eyed, _ Steve thought sourly. His knuckles still stung from punching the computer, and his wrist ached from the impact of the agent’s head on the wall, but it was a good hurt.

He entered the bakery through the back, and Emily waved to him. “Guten nachmittag,” he called to her, opening the door to the spiral staircase that lead to his bedroom.

“You’re home early,” she commented. 

Steve took the stairs two at a time. Once he reached the landing, he paused for a moment, but he heard nothing but the cars in the street below, and the bell jangling as a customer came into the bakery. Satisfied, he put the key in his lock and opened the door to his apartment. 

It was dark inside. Steve was glad he’d pulled the curtain over the single window. It smelled vaguely stuffy. Steve stepped inside and locked the door behind him, then pulled a chest in front of it, too. His apartment had come already furnished, and Emily had been glad to make some extra money after her son had moved out to join the army. Steve kept his time travel suit in the chest, hidden under some heavy books. It wouldn’t be impossible to open, but it would certainly alert Steve if someone tried to break it down.

He turned, and a gun cocked. He froze and very slowly turned the light switch on. It took a moment, but the single bare bulb above his bed crackled to life, illuminating the Winter Soldier sitting on his bed, holding an M1 Garand pointed right at Steve’s chest. 


	2. Bucky POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky figures out what he wants to do with Steve, now that he's got him at gunpoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More references to past sexual assault and graphic depictions of violence in this chapter.

The Asset looked forward to when The Blond One would bring him food. He thought of him, privately, in his head, in a place he refused to acknowledge, as  _ The Soft One _ . Not that anything about him appeared soft- he was about as tall as the Asset himself, with neatly coiffed hair, angular features, and about 200 pounds of muscle. But the way he  _ touched _ the Asset,  _ talked _ to him, fuck, even  _ looked _ at him was soft. Every Handler the Asset had had so far had met his defiance with violence and cruelty, hurting him just for fun and doing whatever they wanted with him. To him.

But The Blond One would talk to him the whole time he ate. Bucky couldn’t understand the words, but it didn’t matter. His voice sounded familiar, like something from a distant dream… although that seemed impossible. The Asset only had nightmares. 

For the past two months, the incessant nightmares had subsided a little, at least. Not to be replaced with good dreams, but the blank void of sleep. The Asset woke feeling more refreshed, finished meals feeling more full, and slept on the floor feeling less cold. Even missions went smoother. He was less likely to fuck up because of extreme fatigue or hunger, and less fuck ups meant less beating. 

So The Blond One was definitely a welcome figure in the Asset’s life. When he finally killed him, like he had all the others, he would do it quickly. Maybe even painlessly. Not like the last one. With the last one, he’d waited for weeks. The Red One took pleasure in drawing out the Asset’s pain, as the Asset did with his death. The Asset had waited until he stepped just  _ too _ close in the shower, and then he had headbutted him, breaking his nose. The Red One fell to the ground, and the Asset dragged his handler closer with his teeth on his leg. He didn’t bother unclenching his jaw; instead, he bit down harder, feeling the meat give way between his teeth, spitting the chunk for away. Without the use of his arms, it was clumsy, but he liked it clumsy. Clumsy meant painful. Dull. He laughed as the man screamed, then he stood and wrapped his chain around his neck, pulling tighter and tighter, watching the Red One’s face go from pink, to purple, to blue. Then he kneed the stupid bastard’s erection, allowing him to gasp just enough to get his air back. He continued to strangle him more before the alarm finally went off, and only then did the Asset finish it. He broke the Red One’s hand off and shoved it down his own throat until he choked on it and they dragged his corpse away. 

They’d punished him for weeks after that, but it was worth it. They waited for the Blond One to leave, for his care to be over; once he was clean and fed and back in his cage they would come in and take him back to the glass room. They would strap him down onto the table and sent electric shock waves through his body, scream words at him that he didn’t know the meaning of, and plunge his head into ice water. 

So, certainly, he would kill the Blond One. He’d been planning it since he first brushed his hair. But as the days went on, his plan became simpler. When they escaped, he almost shot the Blond One after he’d shot the agent. There were enough bullets. He could tell by the weight. It would be a mercy, certainly. No one betrayed them and lived. If the Asset hadn’t escaped himself, they would have sent him after the Blond One, and he would have to return with his liver in his hands. But instead, he’d pointed and told him to leave. He’d told the Blond One to trust him. 

Which was stupid; he was going to go right to the Blond One’s apartment and kill him. He knew where he lived. The second mission he’d had after they met, he took some extra time to track the Blond One. It was easy. He always smelled like bread when he came in, and the pastries he occasionally gave the Asset were easily traced back to one location. The lock on the door was easily broken, but Bucky preferred entering through the window. It had been painted shut, and from the inside it couldn’t be unlocked or opened. From the outside, however, it was easy enough for the Asset to climb up the wall and slide the pane open enough to squeeze inside. 

Before leaving, he waited until the Blond One was safely outside the building. Then he got to work. He’d had plenty of time to think of how he could collapse the building in the most efficient way. One of the codes he’d entered into the panel below was a fire warning. He knew from before that a fire warning activated vents that sucked all the oxygen from a room. He’d discovered it by accident- once a wire got loose in the glass room and a spark caught the padded walls on fire. They’d all evacuated, and in the air-tight room, the oxygen had been sucked out. He’d nearly suffocated, and he’d stopped breathing for about ten minutes when the door opened. He knew that in the event of his escape, the building would go into lockdown. After a fire warning, the oxygen would be sucked from the rooms and any agents stuck inside would suffocate. Lastly, he wanted to destroy any information they kept. There were paper documents in a deeper level of the basement, and a quick check in that level revealed that The Blond One had already effectively destroyed two decades worth of data in the computer room. He set fire to the rows of filing cabinets before making his own escape, and then there really  _ was _ a fire warning. 

By his count, about a dozen agents were stuck inside the building once lockdown fully finished. That meant that there were still many agents in Berlin that wanted him dead, and had the skills needed to do so. 

But he had his arm, and a gun, and even leverage. 

Although, looking at The Blond One’s surprised face, he genuinely doubted that he was valuable to them. The more he considered it, actually, the Blond One was valuable to  _ him. _ He was strong- he’d helped him lift the metal door. He had knowledge of the city, and the German language, and, well, Bucky wanted to keep him close. The Blond One had a unique position over the Asset that no living person did. If he wanted to make sure that none of his ends were loose, he’d have to keep an eye on the Blond One.

He lowered the gun until it was aimed at the floor. Maybe he’d even keep the Blond One alive long enough to get out of Berlin. The Asset had been transferred there about ten years ago from Siberia, which he wasn’t too fond of, either. His various missions had taken him to many places all over the world. He didn’t have a favourite as of yet, but if he wanted to live, he had to get as far away from them as possible.

The Blond One was talking about something in rapid English. The Asset didn’t prefer the language; his instructions came to him in Russian. It was precise, and neat, and it felt right in his brain. English had too many nuances, and the Asset only used it when he had to for a mission. He’d had to seduce a French politician once. He’d spoken English to her, with a British accent so perfect that she’d never doubted he’d grown up in London. He was in control then, choosing which language to use and when to use it.

The Blond One didn’t know German  _ well _ , that much was clear, and his Russian was even worse. The Asset didn’t particularly like being spoken at in English, but he supposed the Blond One could use it, as long as he continued to be useful.

“Stop,” Bucky commanded. “You’re gonna give me a goddamn headache.”

That shut him up. The Blond One closed his mouth with a snap, eyes wide. 

The Asset sighed. That was better. “Alright. Who sent you?” He kept the gun aimed at the ground, but still cocked, just to show the Blond One who was in control.

The Blond One clenched his jaw. “No one,” he responded.

“Don’t lie,” The Asset snarled.

“I’m not.” The Blond One sat on the chest he’d shoved in front of the door. “I came here to rescue you because I wanted to.”

The Asset narrowed his eyes. “How do you know me?” It was possible that he’d met the Blond One on a mission before, but unlikely. The Asset remembered everyone. 

The Blond One took a deep breath. “My name is Steve.” 

_ I liked The Blond One better, _ The Asset thought.

“What do you know? Do you remember where you were, before this? What’s your earliest memory?” he continued.

The Asset tapped his fingers on his left knee, showing off his metal arm a little. If this was some strange reverse-interrogation tactic, it wasn’t going to work. “I’m not giving you intel,” he growled. 

‘Steve’ just sighed, casting a wary glance toward the chest at the door. He kept looking over at it. The Asset would have to search it for weapons. “Look, can I just go to the bathroom? I haven’t had the chance to pee like all day.”

The Asset nodded. There wasn’t a window in the bathroom, so it was unlikely that ‘Steve’ could escape that way. 

The blond looked at the chest yet again, but the Asset kept his finger right on the trigger. Knowing that he couldn’t open the chest without alerting the Asset to what was inside of it, he went inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him. 

The Asset relaxed for a moment, putting the safety on his rifle and leaving it on the bed. There was an icebox in the corner of the room with the kitchenette, and the Asset was feeling the effects of starvation. He hadn’t eaten since ‘Steve’ had brought him breakfast, and before that, it had been a few days. Open opening it, he saw half of a loaf of bread and some beer. Taking out the bread and beer, he popped the cap off with his metal thumb and looked through the cupboards, finding peanut butter and jelly. 

A moment later, the toilet flushed, and Steve came back in the main room to see the Asset making himself a double-decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The Asset wasn’t too worried about not having his gun on him; it was still on the bed, and he was fairly certain he could tackle him if he tried to make a run for it.

The man sighed and sat on the counter, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We’re gonna have to cross the wall and get you into West Germany,” he stated.

The Asset paused slathering the jelly onto a third piece of bread. “...We?” Steve was sitting almost uncomfortably close, completely at odds with the way the Asset had threatened his life moments ago.

Steve nodded. “You’re not safe here. HYDRA’s gonna hunt you down again.”

The Asset shivered. It was jarring to hear someone refer to them by name so casually. “That’s not going to happen.” He was clenching his fists, shaking a little, involuntarily. He nearly shredded the bread with how hard he was spreading the peanut butter.

Steve just hopped down, taking the knife and jar from him. The Asset was almost too shocked to react. He would’ve killed someone for taking his food. But Steve’s intention didn’t seem to be to take the food from him- instead, he spread the peanut butter on the rest of the loaf (more functionally than the Asset had been), put the sandwich on a plate he’d taken from the drying rack, and cut it diagonally before sliding the plate back over to the Asset. The Asset dug into the sandwich hungrily before Steve could think twice and take it back.

“I have connections in the country, but I think our best bet is to lie low right now. We should go as soon as possible, though. After nightfall we’ll go to the wall and try to find a weak point to climb over.”

“What about the guards? The Asset asked through a mouth sticky with peanut butter.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem. We took down those other ones earlier. All we have to worry about is getting over without causing a level-five alarm in all of East Germany.”

The Asset nodded, taking another bite that was nearly a quarter of the whole sandwich. He had planned anything past  _ kill, destroy, escape _ but he had to admit that West Germany was probably a better place to be. He was certain he could’ve done it on his own- maybe even more easily without the blond- but Steve seemed so determined to help him. And honestly, he was a little curious. 

He swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, taking a long sip of beer. “Okay. We’ll leave after nightfall.”

Steve pointed as his empty plate. “You still hungry?”

The Asset cocked an eyebrow, thinking about it. Maybe. He wasn’t full, not by any means. But his hunger had been temporarily sated. 

HYDRA would have stopped feeding him after the first sandwich. With HYDRA, he would have been lucky to get the extra slice of bread at all. But Steve had other things in the icebox- he’d seen hot dogs, as well as some more candy. He was a fugitive on the run, and he had no way of knowing when his next meal would come. “Yes,” he answered.

Steve nodded, pulling out the hot dogs and boiling water like it was the most natural thing to be cooking dinner for your assassin. He put all eight dogs in the water without asking. He didn’t have any buns to go with them, but when they were ready, he wordlessly handed them to the Asset and he ate all of them.

He regretted those last two dogs quite a bit, actually. Those might have been overkill. He was reclining deeply on Steve’s bed, one hand over his convex stomach, hard packed with food. He couldn’t remember the last time- if  _ ever _ \- he’d had that much to eat. HYDRA always liked him a little on the hungry side- a little frantic, a little wild. It kept his defenses up. 

Right about now, though, he felt the most vulnerable he’d ever been. A strip of his belly was even exposed under the tight tank top he wore, but he wasn’t worried. Steve had just had a sandwich of his own, and sat in his chair to read for a little. The Asset didn’t know why, but he almost instinctively trusted the man. It might have been a product of all his care over the last two months, or it might have been more. He still felt  _ familiar _ in a way the Asset couldn’t place. 

He was nursing the last few sips of his third beer when Steve noticed he was low. “More?” he asked, already handing the Asset a fourth bottle from the icebox. 

The Asset took it in response. If Steve was trying to get him too drunk and full to fight back, he was certainly making good work of it. But the Asset doubted that. Ever since his third hot dog, Steve had been avoiding his eyes, reading his book with an over-exaggerated intensity and damn well near hiding in the pages. “Thanks,” the Asset gruffed out.

“No problem, Buck,” Steve responded, before his eyes went wide. The Asset could see the light blush on his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d been hiding it. 

“What did you call me?” The Asset said slowly, drily, giving Steve enough time to realize his fuck up. 

He squirmed a little in his seat. It was funny to watch. “Uh,” he stuttered.

Bucky lazily pointed his beer in his direction. It was hard to still appear in control with how full he was feeling, but he got the impression Steve was buying it anyway. “You called me ‘Buck’.”

“Did I?” Steve questioned weakly. He was looking nervously over at the chest again.

“Yup.” The Asset took another swig of his beer. He was really feeling it; the sandwich, the eight hot dogs, the alcohol, everything. It was a strange opposition to the way he’d felt in captivity; the dull throb of hunger, the vague presence of a bone-rattling cold. “You know me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Steve had been giving him strange vibes just below his radar, and he wanted answers.

Steve nodded.

“From before HYDRA captured me,” The Asset continued.

Steve nodded again. He suddenly looked impossibly sad. He struck the Asset as a man who’d lost so much that he was always waiting for the next thing to fade, too. Steve lived in a state of impermanence, caught in the fragility of everything, and the Asset had the strangest feeling he had something to do with it. 

“You asked me before what I remember,” The Asset began. He wasn’t about to spill important information to Steve, if that even really was his name. The truth was, he didn’t remember much before the sixties. The decade had been a blur of missions and conditioning. In the beginning, he remembered much more- more shreds of his life. He had more fight in him then. He eventually learned that it hurt to remember such things, so he let them go. That was probably an effect of the conditioning, but after so many times, he just got so goddamned  _ tired _ of trying to resist it. They’d shove the bit in his mouth, and the icy-heat of the electric waves would coarse through his veins, removing every thought of his other life. He knew he had one, before HYDRA; it would come to him in sense-memories and nightmares. It had been years since his last one, though. Where once he could recall a name, a face, a different place and time, now there was just the blank void that hurt to try and remember. “My earliest memory is from 1953. I was killing someone.”

Steve didn’t seem surprised by his confession. “We met in 1928,” he started. 

The Asset patiently listened to his story. He wasn’t too drunk to let the details be lost on his mind. He had no way of knowing if it was the truth, but it  _ felt  _ right. All the events lined up in his timeline. According to Steve, he’d lost his arm in 1945, right after he’d been given the same supersoldier serum that the Blond One had. He’d thought the Asset was dead, and during those years HYDRA had found him and wiped his memories, used him as their weapon.

There was more to the story, the Asset could tell- more that Steve wasn’t telling him. He spoke all the facts as if he was reading them from a book, and that just struck the Asset as odd. Steve was ostensibly talking about his life, here. At no point did he offer the fond anecdotes of two people who had been best friends since the fifth grade. However, Bucky didn’t think that meant that it was untrue, necessarily, just that Steve was being extra cautious.

By the end of his tale, it was already dark. The Asset set down his empty bottle on the floor and sat up slowly. His food had digested a little more, and he felt capable of moving, at least. 

“Alright. Well, I can’t say for sure if I’m this Bucky or not. Even if I was once, I’m not anymore.” He tried not to look at his left arm and betray his thoughts. “But you were right about the wall. If we want to be there by tomorrow, we’d better get a move on.”

Steve nodded, but his brow was creased. He’d been hoping for a different reaction, the Asset was sure. He led the way to make sure the area was clear. Before he left Steve’s apartment, the blond grabbed his arm.

“Wait, we need to make sure we aren’t recognized.” He pulled the Asset back into his apartment. The Asset merely looked down in bemusement, as Steve was gripping his metal wrist. The blond didn’t seem to mind.

He went through a small suitcase of clothes, pulling out a medium sized sweater and swiping a baseball cap off his bedpost. He handed it to the Asset, who begrudgingly put it on. Then they went down into the road and set out toward the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late! I’m having a sleepover with my best friend!! <3


	3. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go over the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve has some thoughts of internalized homophobia. It gets sorted.

The wall proved to be less of a challenge than Steve had been fearing. They made it over the barbed wire easily enough, and there were only a few guards that could’ve stopped them from climbing over the stone. They (mostly Bucky) quickly killed them before they could even get word to the rest of their troop, and with a quick boost they were both in West Berlin. 

As Steve hopped down onto the ground, he saw all the graffiti and art on the wall. It took his breath away a little bit, and he was reminded of how long it had been since he’d drawn. He’d been too busy fighting Thanos, and then he was too depressed to do much of anything in the five years following. The time travel suit felt impossibly heavy in his backpack, pulling him back to a time where he still felt like he didn’t belong, even if he knew he should return. 

Bucky cleared his throat, getting his attention, and Steve realized this was probably where they said goodbye. 

“We should probably find a place to sleep for tonight,” he said instead. Steve felt his breath catch in his throat. Bucky wasn’t meeting his eyes, his assassin’s gaze trained on the road, making sure they were alone. It was hard to read his expression, but he seemed a little guarded, a little lonely. 

When Steve let out his breath, it was an audible sigh of relief. Bucky’s eyes snapped back to him in surprise. “Yeah, you’re right. Uh, I should… let’s find a phone. I’ll call my contact.”

They walked through the colourful streets until they found a cafe that was still open, and Steve phoned Peggy while Bucky pulled his cap down low over his eyes and huddled in the corner. 

Peggy was glad to hear they’d both made it out of East Berlin, and she gave Steve some routing numbers for a Swiss bank account she’d described as “bottomless”.

“You know, Steve,” she said. “You could stay. I mean, you took down an entire HYDRA facility in months. We haven’t been able to do that in years.”

“I know,” Steve replied, watching Bucky. It had started to rain softly outside, and Bucky had left the cafe to stand out in the shower. He looked almost angelic with the streetlights shining off the rainwater on his face, casting a sort of halo around his face and long hair. 

“I could put you on the SHIELD payroll, Steve. You could do more work for us.”

Steve did want to help, but it was eating him inside how SHIELD had really been HYDRA all along, and Peggy didn’t know it. She couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her. He wasn’t too sure about how all this time travel business worked, but he didn’t want to make waves so big that he wouldn’t have a future to return to. Although, each moment that he spent in 1971, the future seemed less and less appealing to him. 

“Steve?” Peggy asked after he’d been silent for a moment.

Steve clenched his jaw. “Yeah, okay. Just for the meantime, though. I… I have to go back.”

“Of course, Steve. Whatever you want.” He could tell that she was smiling, just by the sound of her voice.

After he’d hung up the phone, he went outside to where Bucky stood. He didn’t want to disturb him, but he opened his slate blue eyes and looked into Steve’s.

“You remember that night when I was walkin’ you home from work, and it started to rain, and the air was so humid you had an asthma attack?”

Steve’s cheeks were wet, but he wasn’t sure if it was from rain or tears. “You carried me home,” he recalled softly.

Bucky nodded. Steve stepped forward, cautiously, but Bucky met him halfway and they embraced. Steve was positive he was crying then, really bawling into Bucky’s hair. “Oh,  _ Buck _ ,” he sobbed. “Thank god.” 

Bucky stepped back after a moment. “I don’t remember everything, but your story helped. I remember you. I remember when you were just a tiny thing and you looked like a steady wind would knock you over.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Yeah, and I remember what a jerk you are, too. God, maybe I should’ve left you back East.”

Bucky laughed, just tossed his head back and really laughed. It was the best sound Steve had heard in years. “Yeah, you probably should’ve. But you’ve never done what you should, have you, Rogers?”

Steve shook his head, smiling, still looking into Bucky’s eyes. The depth had returned to him, and although Steve knew that there were rough days ahead, he felt like such a weight had been taken from him. 

He tore himself from his thoughts, realizing how soaked they were getting. “Well, we should check into the hotel before we catch cold,” he said, despite the fact that neither of them could get sick. 

He recalled the directions that the waitress at the cafe had given to him, and soon he and Bucky were dripping in the lobby of warm and brightly lit hotel with pastel walls.

“Thank fuck for a four-star hotel,” Bucky whispered in his ear. “I was about to revolt if we were gonna have to spend the night in your shitty apartment.”

Steve smirked, and gave the receptionist his account numbers. 

“Would you like to stay in the penthouse, sir?” she asked in clipped English. 

Bucky inhaled quickly, and Steve laughed. “Yes, that sounds excellent.”

The bellhop lead them to the top floor, and opened the pastel-green French doors to reveal their enormous apartment. There were four different rooms inside; the bathroom (with a bathtub  _ and _ a shower), a sort of parlour, a kitchen that rivaled even Steve’s apartment at the Avengers’ complex, and the bedroom. Steve’s face fell when they realized, however, that it contained only one bed.

“Oh, shoot,” Steve muttered. “I guess I’ll have to call them up and ask for a different room. I forgot to ask if it had two beds.”

Bucky fell spread-eagle down onto the bed, face first, and Steve had to admit that even after he’d made contact, he continued to sink into the surface. “Steve…” he called, voice muffled by silk pillows. “There’s no goddamn way I’m ever getting out of this bed.”

Steve huffed a little laugh, looking around the room, his eyes falling on the sofa in the parlour. “Well, I guess I could just sleep on that…”

Bucky rolled over, making snow-angels in the blankets. “Why not just sleep here? There’s plenty of room.”

The bed was king-sized, and Steve could think of no good excuse to tell the brunet. The main reason in his mind was that if he laid in bed beside Bucky, he might never want to leave, but that hardly seemed good enough. 

Instead, he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Okay, fine.” He set down his backpack and pulled out what few items he’d taken from his apartment; his portrait compass, cellphone (even though it wouldn’t work, it comforted him to have some sort of proof that this wasn’t all a dream), and a gun, setting them on the dresser.

Bucky cocked up an eyebrow, looking at his backpack. “Are those your pajamas?” he asked of Steve’s white and red time travel suit. 

“Uh-- no.” Steve dove at the bag, zipping it up. “That’s… I don’t have pajamas.”

Bucky sat up cross-legged, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. “Neither do I. I guess we could call room service for some robes.” His movement caused his tight tactical shirt to ride up, exposing a small sliver of belly. 

Steve snapped his head away, like he’d been caught doing something shameful. He could feel his cheeks burn. “I’ll call. You go ahead and take a shower, get comfy.”

“You sure you don’t want to help?” Bucky quipped with a wry smile.

Steve felt lightning coarse down his spine, and it took him a moment to realize that Bucky was making fun of Steve being his former handler, not suggesting they should shower together. “Ha! Uh, yeah, I think you can manage. Let me know if you, uh…”

Bucky chuckled, rising from the bed. “Relax, Stevie. I’m perfectly capable, and if something goes wrong, you’ll be the first to know.” He went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Steve took off his clothes, leaving only his boxers. He sat on the bed (and holy shit, was it  _ soft _ ), and dialed room service, ordering two robes. By the time Bucky got out of the shower, he was already halfway asleep. 

There was a knock at the door, and Bucky answered it. Steve cracked open an eye, realizing a beat too late that he probably shouldn’t let a man in some state of undress who had just been completely under the control of a Nazi organization a day ago answer the door, but Bucky simply thanked the bellhop and tipped him, bringing the robes back into the bedroom.

“Where’d you get cash?” Steve asked, his eyes closed once more.

The bed dipped to the left as Bucky crawled in. “I have my ways,” he replied before getting settled. “Want the lights out?” 

Steve grunted in the affirmative, and the room was cast into darkness. 

“Goodnight, Stevie.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”

With his eyes closed, it could have been any time in history. He could’ve been with Bucky in their shitty apartment in Brooklyn in the 30s, or out in Europe somewhere in the middle of the war, or in Wakanda in the days after Sokovia but before Thanos. There had been so many times they’d been in this same exact position before, inches apart and nothing but a few layers of cloth separating bare skin, Steve pining and thinking about how soft Bucky’s hair was, the curve of his lips and the blue in his eyes. His thoughts went to other, more reprehensible places, and he had to stop himself from that line of thinking before he had some trouble. 

He’d been quiet just moments ago, but now he was completely awake- he couldn’t stop thinking of how he’d cared for Bucky back in the East, how Bucky had trusted him enough to take the extra food he’d given. He wondered how much further it would have gone, if they hadn’t escaped- he wondered if Bucky would’ve taken food straight from his hands, just put his pretty face up to the bars and pulled a Snickers bar out of the wrapper with his teeth-

Steve could feel himself getting hard, and although he’d been trying for so long to keep such thoughts away from his mind, it seemed to all be catching up to him. He’d been filled with guilt when he was younger, of the hot, burning, dirty feeling of loving a  _ man _ , half convinced something was wrong with him. Even in the 21st century, he still felt dirty for feeling like that about his best friend. He was certain Bucky wouldn’t feel the same, ladies’ man as he was, certain that the brunet was content just to be old pals. But Steve could barely stand to be around him for more than a few moments without thinking of how he would look naked. 

And now it was so much worse, thrown into a position where Bucky had relied on Steve so intimately. Steve let his mind wander, just a little, about what it would be like if he was still his Handler. What it would be like to brush his hair while he was tied down, to wash him with soapy sponges, to feed him straight out of his hands and watch him flourish under his care. Maybe even more than flourish. Bucky had been so malnourished, and he’d fortunately put back on some of his lost weight with Steve sneaking extra food, but Steve remember how he looked before the war. Back in the depression, everyone looked so hollow, so sickly, but Bucky looked strong and healthy as ever. He was still so young, just some puppy fat under his chin and around his waist, but god, how it’d kept Steve warm in the winter. And he might have liked it for a little bit more than that, too.

But he wasn’t ready to come to terms with any of this, not even in his own mind. And he had to stop thinking about it-  _ immediately-  _ or he might really embarrass himself.

It was the worst possible moment to realize that as Bucky turned over in his sleep, the brunet was wearing nothing but his underwear, seemingly having discarded the robes in favour of sleeping bare on the silk sheets.

The brunet had rolled over, closer to Steve, and his knee was pressed into Steve’s hip, dangerously close to his cock. If he moved even an inch more, he’d feel it against his leg, and then Steve would have to explain himself. He’d probably run. It was so, fragile, what they had now; something that wasn’t even planned. He remembered Steve for now, but there was no telling what his fractured mind would do. The last thing Steve wanted him to think was that he was taking advantage of his vulnerable state. 

He kind of wanted him vulnerable, kneeling on the floor and looking up at him with pretty eyes, through his lashes and curtain of long chestnut hair, hands flat on his thighs. He kind of wanted to touch his face at that angle, just put his hands on his cheekbones because he wanted to. Maybe Bucky would move his face into the touch, angle his head to the side. Bucky would open his mouth and take in two of Steve’s fingers, licking the digits-

Steve’s cock jumped and he sprang from the bed, flicking on the light. Bucky had a knife that Steve didn’t even know he had, immediately jumping up into defense.

“What??  _ Chto eto?” _ he asked, slipping into Russian. 

“No, nothing, Buck, I’m sorry.” He quickly grabbed a pillow from the bed and covered himself before Bucky could see his erection. He was looking at the orange pendant light on the ceiling, rather than look at Bucky. He was right about him not wearing his robe; his tan skin was exposed, and Steve knew he’d pass the point of no return if he looked at his chest. “I just, uh… I get spasms sometimes. I’ll go sleep on the couch.” 

He turned and left the bedroom before Bucky could stop him, shutting the door behind himself.

The couch was too small for him to fit comfortably, and his sleep was cold and restless without Bucky.

 

\--

Just as he’d gotten to the good part of his dream, a soft noise woke him up. He cracked one eye, feeling for his pistol under the pillow, but it was just Bucky spreading out breakfast on the coffee table before him. 

“Good morning,” Bucky said, when he saw that Steve was awake.

Steve groaned and rolled his neck. “Morning.”

It appeared that Bucky had ordered an entire restaurant. There was a small cart behind him, upon which Steve assumed the food had been delivered. There were pancakes and waffles, fasnacht doughnuts, omelettes, bacon, fruit cups, muffins, various other pastries, coffee and orange juice, and even more that Steve couldn’t identify or see. 

Bucky laughed when he saw his staring. “Figured we might as well pull out all the stops while we’re here.” 

Steve was still a little in shock, and it took him a moment to respond. “It’d just be a shame to waste it all.”

Bucky snorted. “I don’t intend to waste one crumb. I’m hungry as shit.”

“Uh, good luck. There’s enough food here for like four people.”

Bucky grabbed a plate from the cart, handing one to Steve as well. “Mhm,” he responded, piling it high. 

Steve shook his head, trying to cover his excitement at the idea. “Godspeed. I’m uh, gonna check in with Peg.” He promised he’d call once they got a room.

Once she secured the channel, he gave her the number so she could call him back. She confirmed that most of the HYDRA agents had died inside of the building before the firemen could arrive and help them. There were only about six people left that would potentially come for Bucky. They were safer now that they were in West Berlin, but they still needed to be careful.

“How is he?” Peggy asked carefully.

Steve looked back over to where Bucky was sitting on the couch in nothing but his boxers and a thin white shirt he’d stolen from Steve’s bag. Steve felt his mouth go dry. “Fine,” he responded.

He talked with Peggy a little more, and then he sat beside Bucky to get some breakfast of his own before it was all gone. The soldier hadn’t been lying about his appetite-- he’d already put a significant dent in the food, having finished all three pancakes, two waffles, a muffin, nearly all the bacon, and half of the doughnuts. Steve took a waffle and an omelette for himself. 

“So,” Bucky started, talking with food in his mouth. “You gonna tell me about that suit in your backpack you don’t want me to see?”

_ Shit. _ Bucky must’ve seen it when he took Steve’s shirt. He couldn’t blame him, though; he couldn’t imagine the brunet would want to change back into his tactical suit he’d worn as the Winter Soldier. And he’d have to admit that he was from the future sooner or later. “It’s, uh… I’m not… I’m not from this year, Buck. I mean, I was. But right now, I’m in the ice somewhere in the arctic. I’m from 2023.”

Bucky didn’t react, finishing what was on his plate and grabbing a few scones, some fruit, and another doughnut. He didn’t seem to be slowing down yet. 

Steve continued. “It’s a long story, but I came back in time to return something. While I was here, I, uh…”

“You broke me out of HYDRA.” Steve nodded. “But that wasn’t part of your plan.”

“Strictly speaking… no.”

“And you have to return to the future.”

Steve nodded again. “I should.”

Bucky took a huge bite of his doughnut. Some of the jelly spilled out on his chin. Steve moved to swipe it away with his thumb, but he stopped himself before he lifted his arm. Bucky licked it away. “Am I there? In the future?” he asked with an air of nonchalance. Steve was sure he was more nervous than he seemed, thought.

Steve met his eyes. He saw clarity there, and hope. He wanted to give Bucky something to hold onto, something that would last forever. Even if HYDRA captured him again, even if the future tore them apart, he wanted Bucky to know that there was a world away from all the fear and pain. “Yeah, Buck. You are.”

Bucky grunted an affirmative and turned back to his food, finishing his doughnut in two enormous bites. Steve just smirked and took a sip of his coffee. It was sweeter than he liked it, but it was good enough. The waffles were good, too- perfectly crisp, and the omelette was flavourful, with ham and diced tomatoes.

After Bucky finished his third plate, he began to slow down. Steve could see him struggle out of the corner of his eye, but he was resolutely  _ not _ going to look directly at him. He wasn’t going to see how his shirt looked on Bucky’s body; he wasn’t going to see if all that food was visibly distending his stomach, if he was getting short of breath, if his eyes were lazy slits and his cheeks were pink--

Goddamnit, he was looking. 

Bucky’s belly was a convex slope, but Steve could still see his abs, rounding out the cotton of the shirt. He was reclining deeper than before, plate on his knees. Before Steve could think about it too much, he took the plate and put more food on it. “C’mon, Buck, you’re not done yet, are ya?” 

Bucky shifted himself into a bit more of a sitting position and took the plate from Steve, attempting to eat more. Steve surveyed the table. There was barely anything less, just some fruit, a few strips of bacon, and five doughnuts. Steve didn’t want him to give up, and not just because it would be wasting food. He wanted to watch Bucky finish all of it, and he wanted to make him do it.

He felt absolutely horrible for wanting such terrible things. Clearly Bucky was in pain- he should advise him to stop now, give him some tums and tuck him in for a nap. But he was chewing mechanically through the last of what was on his plate, and Steve wanted to see if he could push him a little more.

Bucky shoved the plate on the table. He closed his eyes and threw one forearm over his forehead, using his flesh arm to shove down the waistband of his boxers a little. Steve shifted over so Bucky could put his feet up on the couch. “God, I’m so fucking  _ full _ ,” he complained, rubbing absently at his stomach. He looked completely stuffed.

Steve had finished his own breakfast long ago, and he ate the last fruit cup. “There’s only five doughnuts and some bacon left. Can you manage that?”

“Ugh,” Bucky responded, and Steve thought he might really say no. “Yeah. Just… oof. Just give me a minute.”

Steve let him rest, handing his cup of orange juice to him when Bucky made grabby hands. He held it to the side of his stomach, gasping as the condensation wetted Steve’s shirt. “Fuck. Goddamn,” he swore, shifting again, like he couldn’t get comfortable under the weight of his own stomach. Steve had never seen anyone eat so much, with the exception of Thor. Steve wondered what Bucky would look like if he was that big, how his fat would place itself, what the shape of his belly would look like…

Bucky didn’t look like he was going to pick up his plate again, so Steve took one of the doughnuts and fed it to him with by hand. He said nothing, simply tapping the doughnut against Bucky’s lips. He opened his mouth without looking, taking another large bite. Steve felt like he was hardly breathing. He was painfully hard, but as long as Bucky didn’t open his eyes, he could just stay like this, just keep feeding him...

The relatively small doughnut was gone in a few bites, and Steve reached for another. Bucky continued to eat, but after the third, he called for another break.

“Can’t finish?” Steve asked, trying not to let his disappointment creep into his voice.

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, it’s the taste. Too much sweet.”

Steve took one of the strips of bacon, feeding him that instead. The brunet ate still, but he was going so slow. “You can do it, Buck,” Steve encouraged. “There’s only two left, and I bet you could finish them in four bites. They’re pretty small.”

“That’s only ‘cause they don’t have holes,” Bucky whined.

Steve chuckled. “You won’t have a problem, big guy like you.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say. You’re not the one getting bacon shoved down your throat.”

Steve paused, hand holding the bacon hovering in air. “Do you want me to stop?”

Bucky opened his eyes, looking into Steve’s. “I did say I’d eat it all, didn’t I?”

Steve smiled and fed him the bacon. “Next time, don’t order so much.”

Bucky closed his eyes again and put both his arms behind his head. In the position his spine was, his stomach jutted out and looked even more full. He didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. “Hm. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just build up more of an appetite.”

Steve nearly dropped the bacon. Just the thought of Bucky ordering this much food everyday, enough to make him gain weight and eat even more was enough to set him on fire. Steve could see Bucky’s belly poking out from under his shirt, skin and just a hint of his happy trail disappearing below his boxers. 

“Well?” Bucky asked, surprising him. Steve realized he hadn’t fed him the rest of the bacon.

“Oh!” He shoved the entire strip into Bucky’s mouth (which he took with an indignant “mmph!”), and picked up the penultimate doughnut, holding it to Bucky’s lips with no pause. “Two bites, come on.”

Bucky opened his mouth, and managed to bite it in half. He chewed for a little longer, but a sip of orange and one bite later and the doughnut was done.

Steve took the last doughnut, intending to feed it to him the same way, but Bucky opened his mouth as wide as he could and ate it in one bite. There was so much of it in his mouth that he didn’t have enough room to chew until he’d swallowed some of it whole.

Steve was speechless, watching the display with wide eyes and sweaty palms. Bucky looked into his eyes as he swallowed and then grinned.

“How about one bite?”

“That’s, uh… that’s…” Steve stuttered.

Bucky’s grin turned to a grimace as he adjusted himself on the couch. Steve stood to give him more room and spread the blanket over him, as he appeared to be ready to take a food coma nap. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much in my whole life.”

Steve chuckled weakly, clearing the plates off the coffee table and setting them back on the cart.

“Wake me up for lunch, will ya?” Bucky sleepily asked before drifting off.

Steve opted for taking a cold shower to shake the thought of Bucky eating  _ more _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky: wears Steve’s clothes, lets him hand-feed him, adds a sexual innuendo in every sentence  
> Steve: Is this a good friend?


	4. Bucky POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky adjusts to his new life with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has some thoughts about Steve being a dom that might be triggering. There’s some more references to past sexual assault and violent descriptions as well.

Bucky didn’t want to alarm Steve, but he was pretty sure they were being watched. 

They’d been followed from East Berlin, by an agent so good that even Bucky wasn’t sure who or where they were. But there was a sense in the back of his mind, something sharp and inevitable that told him  _ you are not safe here.  _ Even after he’d stood out in the rain, and his memories came back, the Winter Soldier was still in his head, fighting for dominance. With every thought came two opposing possibilities. Part of him- the  _ Bucky _ part- was saying  _ it’s okay, Steve will take care of us. There’s nothing we haven’t defeated before. We’re here now and that’s all that matters. Enjoy the time you have now, _ but the Asset was right there behind him with an argument that was unfortunately also true. 

_ Everything comes to an end. Either you leave Steve first, or he’ll die and leave you. There’s no happy way out of this. You’re a danger to everyone around you, and if you care about him at all, you’ll disappear in the night and finish it.  _

He didn’t want to tell Steve about that either.

Currently, he was pretending to be asleep on the couch. Steve was messing with his strange palm-sized black device in the corner. 

He kept thinking about what Steve said about the future. It seemed impossible to believe that there could really be a world where he was at peace with himself, where he was a trusted member of society and he surrounded himself with people who wanted to see him thrive. There could be no happy ending for the Winter Soldier, he was certain. But the Bucky within him argued that at last he could have a happy middle.

His happy middle currently consisted of him eating his weight in continental breakfasts and resting his eyes on the couch that Steve had slept on last night. He wasn’t sure why the captain had left bed- he’d just been on the edge of an abysmal sleep when Steve had leapt from the bed and shut the door behind him. Bucky had still slept well- the bed was soft and warm, his stomach was full from his dinner of hot dogs the night before, and he wasn’t woken by the cruel spray of water in his face. He’d even had a dream for the first time in years. He was being restrained, with his wrists over his head, and someone was commanding him in a deep voice. At first, he thought it might be a nightmare, but as the waves of sleep pulled him deeper, the person’s face became more clear. It was Steve. He was standing before him, wearing a dark suit. His face was impassive, but there was kindness in his eyes.

_ “You’re going to behave, aren’t you?”  _ he’d asked in the dream. Bucky nodded enthusiastically, writhing not out of pain but pleasure. He was aroused, tingles racing down his spine. 

_ “You’re going to do everything I tell you to, aren’t you, boy?” _

_ “Yes, sir!” _ Bucky responded, biting back a groan. 

Steve had delivered a sharp flick to his testicles, and Bucky convulsed, eyes fluttering shut. He wanted it, wanted more. 

When he’d woken to discover his dream had been wet in more ways than one, he decided that Steve being his Handler wasn’t an entirely bad thing. He’d decided not to kill him a long time ago, but now the tricky part was that he’d have to keep him alive.

He wasn’t the only one with an internal struggle, he could tell. Steve was distracted, lost somewhere far off in his mind. Bucky got the sense that he had his own desires that he rarely acted upon. Bucky wanted to see what he looked like when he stopped holding himself back, when he really let himself act out his deepest fantasies. He wanted to touch him, in both soft and hard ways. He wanted him to fall into the role of Handler more. He wanted Steve to command him to crawl on the ground, keep his eyes down, be a good boy, hump his leg just for friction until Steve deigned to let him touch himself. 

He felt a little dirty, thinking these things. The Red One had been cruel like that. He’d called Bucky  _ little girl _ in Russian, sometimes  _ little whore. _ He’d come into his cage with his riding crop, striking it in air. Bucky would kneel in the corner with his hands on his thighs and wait for him. He’d walk up to him and drag him around by his hair, and the Asset would cry and beg pitifully for him to stop.

_ Do you deserve this? _ He’d ask, getting close up in the Asset’s face.  _ Are you a dirty little fucking slut? Do you deserve me to use this? _ He’d sodomized Bucky with the riding crop. It wasn’t meant for such things; the material was too hard, the angle too sharp. It hadn’t mattered to the Red One. He’d make Bucky ride on it even after he came, milking every drop from him. He’d leave Bucky exhausted and spent after ten or more orgasms.  _ Disgusting little bitch. You like it, don’t you. Look, you’re getting hard again. _

God, Bucky wanted Steve to talk to him that way. 

He had absolutely no evidence that Steve would even want something like that. But there was this part of him now, just under the surface that he could never be rid of. The Winter Soldier would be a part of him forever. The Soldier was calculating, capable of making judgement quicker than Bucky could keep up with. The Soldier hissed that Steve wasn’t to be trusted, that every person in a position of power over Bucky had abused it before. Yet the Soldier had trusted Steve to escape HYDRA.

And Bucky trusted Steve, even when he didn’t know the whole truth. Bucky would let Steve do anything to him.

_ So where does that leave us? _ Bucky thought to himself, spying on Steve a little. He was pacing back and forth in front of the lavender french doors that lead to the balcony. It was a little after noon, and the German sun was high in the sky. Something was glinting in the building across the street, catching Bucky’s eye. 

The lens of a binocular. 

_ Fuck. _

It was certainly one of the six HYDRA agents. He wouldn’t shoot Steve like this, not in midday; but it meant that he knew where they were.

Bucky closed his eyes and just smiled, shifting down on the couch a little more. Well, he knew where the agent was, too. And he’d pay him a little visit that night. 

 

\--

Steve had woken Bucky up for lunch. Bucky didn’t expect him to, but he’d gently shaken one of his shoulders. Bucky must’ve dropped off at some point, and Steve was presenting another extravagant display of food. He’d eaten his fill again, and past the point, until his stomach cramped and gurgled and his lungs had to fight for space. Steve’s eyes were right on his gut, every time he looked at him, and Bucky was showing off a little. He wasn’t sure that Steve  _ wanted _ him to eat this much, but it got him looking, and Bucky knew he wanted those crystal blue eyes on him. He kept tabs on the sniper across the street during the afternoon, making sure he didn’t move. 

As he was digesting his enormous lunch, Steve suggested they watch some television. There wasn’t really anything on that either of them understood, but it was comforting anyway; to share the couch and enjoy brightly coloured cartoons. Steve took a bath while Bucky ordered dessert (refusing to leave the couch, or at least, to let the window out of his sight). He had three slices of cheesecake and one of chocolate mousse pie, and Steve put the rest of the leftovers in the fridge. Bucky wasn’t about to hurt himself as much as he did at breakfast again, especially when he’d end up finishing the leftovers anyway. 

Before bed, Bucky mentioned that Steve could have the bed that night. Steve argued, but Bucky had let a little of the Soldier slip into his glare, and Steve backed down. At a quarter past eleven, he rose from the couch to go to the bedroom. He paused for a beat after wishing Bucky a goodnight. Bucky wasn’t sure why. He went into the bed, shutting the door behind him but not locking it. Bucky waited until he was asleep, and then got to work. 

He didn’t bother putting on his tactical suit. He wouldn’t need it. He crept into the bedroom quietly, opening his bag once more. He found a simple pair of light wash jeans and pulled them on. They were a little snug around the thighs and ass, and wouldn’t button around his waist at all, but he simply pulled his white t-shirt a little lower and grabbed Steve’s leather jacket before leaving.

He exited a window on the west side of the building, where the HYDRA agent couldn’t see him. Once he was on the the street, he quickly crept to the adjacent building, staying within the shadows. If he took the stairs, the agent might hear him coming, so instead he climbed the outside of the building. There was a pipe along the side that creaked and moaned as he mounted it, but it held his weight. He balanced along a ledge that lead him directly to the window, and paused for a moment, listening.

The agent was still inside, gun trained on the bedroom, talking to someone over his comm in German.

_ Dammit, _ Bucky thought.  _ I really should’ve picked up German. _

He grabbed onto the sill above the window and swung himself through the glass, shattering it with his boots and striking the agent in the face. The gun clattered to the ground and the man fell back, throwing up his fists. Bucky stood above him. He could only imagine how he must look, the moonlight streaming through the shattered glass behind him and illuminating his metal arm.

“Please!” the man cried in a European accent Bucky couldn’t place. “Don’t kill me-- my Captain told me to track down your location, or he’d kill me himself.”

“Then I’ll save him the trouble,” Bucky responded, snapping his neck. He had no pity for Nazis. 

After he’d snuck back into their hotel room, it occurred to him that he could’ve pressed the agent for the ‘Captain’s’ whereabouts. It was too late now, and after all, he supposed the other five agents would make their positions known in time. He consoled himself with the rest of the cheesecake and then went to sleep. After a moment of consideration, he went into the bedroom and snuck under the duvet beside Steve. 

It would be easier to keep an eye on him if they were in the same room, Bucky reasoned. That’s all there was to it.

 

\--

_ A small, dark room. The walls were wet and cold.  _

_ Bucky was chained by his neck to the ground, like always. His Handler walked in. He struggled, pulling at the chain. It bit into the flesh at the back of his neck. _

_ His Handler stopped before him, petting his hair. “You’re getting chubby, Boy,” he murmured. _

_ Bucky instantly stilled. It’s Steve. He doesn’t respond. _

_ Steve tweaked at the flesh at his waist. “It’s because you eat so fucking much.”  _

_ Bucky squirmed a little under the attention. He’s completely naked, and his body was bare before Steve. He felt vulnerable and small, even as he probably weighed more than Steve.  _

_ “You like it, don’t you, Boy? Like being well-fed and taken care of. Like it when you wake up and I’ve ordered you food. Like it when I tell you to eat more than you should.” _

_ Bucky felt like he should argue. He opened his mouth, but nothing but a soft whine escaped.  _

_ “You’re going to get fatter, aren’t you? You don’t want to stop. You’re going to keep eating until this gets bigger.” He punctuated his statement with a sharp slap to the side of his gut. Even as he’s only gained around 35 pounds, and he’s not even overweight, just back on this side of healthy and getting thick, his belly was full of food and it jiggled, rippling his pecs with the motion. “It’s going to sit on your thighs. Those are getting fatter too, meaty and big for me. And your ass.” He groaned, pushing Bucky’s neck down to the ground. Bucky put his ass up in the air for his Handler to examine. “It’s going to get even fatter. I can’t wait to bury my cock inside you, Boy. Do you want that?” he asked, and Bucky knew he was meant to respond. “Do you want my cock in your ass? Are you my cockslut?” _

_ “Yes, Sir!” Bucky exclaimed.  _

_ His Handler leaned over on him, and Bucky felt the heavy weight of his erection rest against his ass- _

“Good morning, Buck.”

Bucky groaned and turned over. Steve was already dressed and out of bed. Bucky figured he should offer some explanation. “I’m sorry, I had… nightmares.” 

Steve just smiled easily. “That’s okay, Buck. You were right. It is a big bed. No sense in one of us using the couch.”

Bucky nodded and sat up, still a little disoriented from his dream. He hadn’t come, and was still painfully hard under the blankets. “I think I’m going to take a shower before breakfast,” he announced. Steve nodded and left to let him change.

After Bucky’s shower, they decided to go out for breakfast to give the poor bellhop a break. Steve let Bucky borrow some of his street clothes, and they went down to the street and found an outdoor cafe next to a flower shop. Afterward, Steve remarked that Bucky ought to get some of his own clothes, and Bucky reluctantly agreed. He didn’t want to stop wearing Steve’s things, but it was clear that his pants didn’t fit him at this size, and not much of his other clothes would fit him for much longer either. They found a department store and shopped together. Steve gave Bucky more space than he wanted, but it saved Bucky the embarrassment of revealing that he was one size about Steve, and buying clothes in a size even above that to allow him for growth. He got some very nice dark wash jeans, a few henleys, and a dark canvas jacket. He decided he liked layers; it disguised his metal arm, and made him look more like a civilian. More like James.

Still, the Asset was in his head, whispering at him as he looked in the mirror.  _ It doesn’t matter what you wear. That won’t change what you are. You’re a danger to Rogers. You should leave now before he gets hurt.  _

Bucky shut out those thoughts and pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes. 

As he’d thought, it didn’t take long for another agent to find them. He couldn’t be sure it was the Captain the other agent had spoken of, but he killed him too. This one got the room under theirs. Steve was speaking to Bucky one afternoon, explaining something in the future called  _ memes _ , when Bucky heard the telltale click of a listening device being affixed to the ceiling below them. He just nodded, pretending to listen to Steve speaking. Steve might’ve heard the noise as well, but he wasn’t likely to recognize it from his time with HYDRA. 

After Steve was asleep, Bucky snuck out of bed and went into the window again. The agent saw him at the last moment, shouting something in German on a walkie talkie before Bucky shot him with his own gun. He didn’t worry about hiding the bodies. HYDRA cleaned up well enough after their own that they would never be found by the public. 

With four left, he crept back into bed next to Steve. 

Weeks passed without hearing anything from another agent. Bucky figured they were getting smart, or whatever the last one had said tipped them off to the fact that the Asset was capable of taking them out one by one. He would’ve left the hotel to track them down on his own, but each time he mentioned going outside, Steve would perk up his ears like a goddamn golden retriever. Bucky wasn’t about to put him in the line of fire, but Steve wouldn’t let him leave alone. He was forced to wait for the remaining four agents to come to him. It left him feeling vulnerable, but at least he had a defensible position with the high ground.

And he did defend it. He pulled the shades low on the windows, moved an armoire over the french doors leading to the balcony, even pulled the bed to the other wall so it was further from the street. 

Steve walked in on him rearranging the bedroom once. He was holding a beer, and apparently tired of pretending to mind his business in the parlour enough to go see what all the scraping was about. He didn’t say anything; just watched Bucky pull the wardrobe over the french doors.

“Don’t like heights,” Bucky explained, which was a clear lie.

Steve just shrugged and set down his beer so he could help him. 

The day came that marked one month since Bucky had seen a HYDRA agent, and he was growing nervous. He preferred it when he had their location, like a spider on the wall. There was one in the corner, on the border of a yellow-green colour Steve called ‘chartreuse’ and the rest of the orange wall. He was flicking rubber bands at the wall around it when Steve came into the room and snatched it out of the air. 

“Hey, c’mon, what did he ever do to hurt you?” Steve cupped the arachnid in his hands, but all the windows were covered with some variety of furniture. The blond sighed and went to the doors that led to the hallway, and put the spider on the ground. 

Bucky just shrugged in response, snacking on an apple. His pants were a little too tight, but he didn’t want to tell Steve that he needed new ones. 

“Why are you sulking, anyway?” 

Bucky just shrugged again. He knew he was being childish, but he was  _ bored. _ His life had been going at light speed for so long, and now it was halted to a decrepit crawl. 

Steve just sighed and crossed his arms. “Does this have anything to do with those two agents you killed last month?”

Bucky met Steve’s eyes quickly, before looking away. He didn’t know he knew.

“Of course I knew, Buck,” Steve insisted gently, mirroring his thoughts. “We have the same serum in our veins. I don’t think you could do anything in this apartment without me knowing.”

Bucky thought back to all the times he’d jacked off in the shower, hoping that wasn’t true. “You aren’t mad?” he asked carefully.

“No, I’m not mad.” Steve sat down on the couch. Bucky didn’t move his legs. “You’re dealing with a lot, and I know we have to get rid of the rest of HYDRA in Berlin if we want to stay safe. I would’ve preferred if you wanted me to come with you, but it’s okay if you want to go out alone.”

“So I’m allowed to leave the hotel without you?” Bucky asked, surprised.

Steve shrugged. “‘Course. I’m not keeping you here. You’re free to go anywhere you want.” The room phone rang and he stood back up to answer it. Bucky recognized Peggy’s voice on the other line.

He was both a little disappointed and a little relieved to hear Steve say it. He was relieved because now, at least, he could find the other agents without worrying about Steve being suspicious- but he was disappointed because he wanted Steve to tell him what to do. He wanted Steve to command him to go find an agent, maybe- bring him back on his knees in front of Steve so he could interrogate him. Hell, even if Steve had commanded him to stay in the apartment it would’ve been better.

There was something building just below the surface between the two of them. Bucky could never be certain whether it was one-sided or not. Sometimes it seemed as if Steve was feeling as much tension as he was, as if he wanted nothing more than to voice all the thoughts in his head, but he was certain they wouldn’t be well received. Other times, Bucky felt as if he was all alone, like he was just having dreams about the man because he was in such close proximity with him all the time, but Steve thought of him as nothing more than a friend. 

Bucky had known Steve since they’d met in the playground outside the catholic church in fifth grade. He knew every mannerism of Steve’s, even now after so many years. He could read every impulse and emotion that crossed his face, and he felt that their relationship went deeper than friends. Whenever Steve maintained eye contact for a beat too long, sat a touch too close, let him sleep in the same bed every night and asked no explanation, Bucky’s heartbeat quickened and his erection stirred.

But the Asset knew that he’d always be alone, that if Steve was staying with him now he was just using him for his own advantage.  _ He isn’t your friend. He doesn’t care about you. He just saved you so that he can use you as his soldier. The moment you let him have authority over you, he’ll use you just like HYDRA did.  _

At least now that he had some work to do, he could put those thoughts at the back of his mind. He went out into the city, tracking down anything he could find on the other four agents. By the next night he had a lead, at least.

He was consumed by his mission. He didn’t see Steve at their room anymore that much, and even when they were in the same space together, they didn’t talk much. 

He wished that Steve would say something, ask him where he was going. He wished that Steve would say something about when Bucky continued to use the blond’s shirts as pajamas even though he had his own. He wished he would mention the fact that they were fitting worse by each day. 

He decided to eat his feelings until the problem went away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I didn’t even plan on making Steve the dom. Sometimes things just happen.


	5. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has some cheesecake.

Berlin was beautiful in March. At least, Steve was sure it would be if he could see outside one of the many beautiful windows that adorned their room. 

Bucky had been leaving a lot recently. He didn’t mind; he just missed how it used to be when they would stay in all day, and Bucky would do nothing much but eat and watch TV. Not that Bucky wasn’t eating now; even if Steve didn’t see him eat, he continued to pile on weight. It was hard to really see his body under all the layers he wore, but at night he would wear just boxers and one of Steve’s (increasingly) skin tight shirts. Steve actually had a whole section of t-shirts that only Bucky wore for pajamas. Even after they stopped fitting, he kept wearing them, like he was  _ trying _ to drive Steve crazy. Every time he was on the verge of saying something, he’d remind himself that Bucky was just trying to adjust to his new life, that he shouldn’t point out mean things like his weight gain or why they still slept in the same bed.

Sometimes it caught up with him, how much time he’d spent in the past. He’d drag the armoire away from the doors so he could go out on the balcony, and he’d sip coffee and wait for Bucky to come home, wondering how the hell he’d meant to just return the stones, and here he was seven months later. 

_ What the hell am I doing here? _ He wondered to himself, scowling down at his coffee.

Bucky didn’t need him. He was perfectly capable of doing this on his own, Steve was sure. He’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t need Steve to tell him what to do. 

Yet, he didn’t feel as if he was needed in the future, either. Bucky then was doing better, too. And as for Captain America, he was planning on handing the shield over to Sam, anyway.

Steve wanted to feel  _ needed _ .

He heard a clatter from inside, and he went inside to see Bucky had come back home. He was leaning on the doors that lead to the hallway, panting a little. His hair was snarled and his clothes were dirty like he’d been crawling through mud.

Steve blinked. “Do I want to know?”

Bucky flashed him that perfect grin, straight off the cover of a magazine. “Probably not.”

Steve rolled his eyes, trying (and failing) not to let the tone future Bucky affectionately called ‘Mom Steve’ slip into his voice. “Alright. Take off your clothes and I’ll call someone to take them down to the wash.”

Steve didn’t mean for Bucky to strip right  _ there _ , but Bucky just shrugged off his jacket, then proceeded to peel off his henley over his head and step out of his jeans, leaving him standing in his boxers. Steve stared for a moment before realizing he probably shouldn’t, and quickly darted his eyes away. Bucky had gained more than he thought. He looked about fifty pounds heavier than he had when Steve found him, maybe more. He certainly wasn’t fat yet, maybe just chubby, but he was definitely the heaviest Steve had ever seen him.  _ Even heavier than he was in Bucharest,  _ Steve’s head reminded him unhelpfully. And even then Steve hadn’t seen him this bare. His arms were strong and muscular, padded with a soft layer of fat. His chest was wide and strong, pecs round with muscle and new weight. His stomach had lost any definition, showing not lines of musculature but a gentle slope to where his belly pooched over the waistband of his underwear. He didn’t have overhang, not yet- his muffin top was more likely due to the fact that his boxers were simply too small, and his lovehandles were cut in half by the elasticity. His thighs and ass were meatier, too, and altogether he looked solid like a wall. Even his face was rounder, under the light beard he’d begun to grow. 

Steve realized he was looking again. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gorgeous sight in front of him. Bucky stood there like he knew it, not covering himself up at all, almost daring Steve to look. 

“I’ll take a shower,” he said after a moment.

Steve nodded, picking a spot on the wall and staring at it. “Mhm. Okay, yeah.”

Bucky left for the bathroom, and Steve picked up the pile of clothes, putting them in the basket for laundry pick up. 

It was just after 7, and Bucky probably ate while he was out. Steve almost wished it was dinnertime, so he could have some food ready for Bucky when he got out of the shower. 

Before he even had time to call for dessert, he heard the water shut off. The brunet came out a moment later, wearing his robe. Steve made himself a mental note to call for a larger size, as this one clearing wouldn’t fit Bucky much longer- it barely did now, his round belly pushing apart either side, the tie struggling to keep it together. 

He was fighting with a brush, attempting to pull all his hair to one side. He attacked it with an impatient fury, and Steve had to stifle a laugh as he created more snarls than he managed to detangle.

“What?” Bucky snapped, but not even his Soldier voice could intimidate Steve.

Steve smirked and held out a hand for the brush. “C’mere. I’ll help.”  

After a moment of detaching the brush from his hair, Bucky handed it to Steve. The blond sat on the chair near the window, and patted the ground before him. Bucky warily eyed the open window (since Steve hadn’t put the armoire back yet), but took his seat nonetheless.

A type of tranquility all too foreign to Steve overtook him as he brushed Bucky’s hair. Not even the conditioner he’d applied in the shower managed to release his hair from knots, but Steve didn’t mind. He’d been feeling a little touch-starved, a little pathetic, and just getting to touch Bucky’s hair made him feel more grounded after all those nights in the same bed, mere inches from each other. 

When his mother was dying, she’d been weak and even the simplest of tasks could drain her energy. Steve learned how to brush then, starting at the bottom and holding the root at the base to lessen pain and shedding. Bucky seemed to relax, too, letting whatever had bothered him from the day ebb away as Steve combed through his silky hair. 

After Steve had brushed through all of it, he began to braid it without asking. He felt his throat go dry and tears almost came to his eyes, although he couldn’t think of why he could be so sad.

Bucky stood, belly level with Steve’s eyes. The sun had gone down, and it was dark in the room. 

“Do we have any dessert?” Bucky asked, his voice law and hushed.

“I was going to call for some,” Steve whispered back, not knowing why. There was something so delicate about the moment, he felt as if he spoke too loudly it might shatter.

Bucky went over into the kitchen, looking through the fridge, and Steve felt as if he’d missed an opportunity.

“There’s still nearly a whole cheesecake in here,” Bucky called. Steve had forgotten about it. He’d ordered it the other night for Bucky to have when he got home, but Bucky hadn’t come back until early in the morning. Steve had flagged at about 11, having one small slice himself and going to bed. 

Bucky came back into the parlour holding the entire cheesecake and a fork, no plates in sight. He sat down again at Steve’s feet, sinking the fork right into the cheesecake and taking a bite. Steve just watched for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Sorry, did you want some?” Bucky asked, looking back up at him over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” Steve replied.  _ Did Bucky really intend to eat the whole cake? _

It appeared as he did. The cake was undivided and unbroken except for where Steve took his piece, and now, where Bucky had dug in with the fork. Sitting above him, Steve had a perfect view down his bathrobe. His pecs almost formed an actual cleavage, and he could see the round curve of his belly jutting out from them. He felt himself getting hard, and he knew he’d have to make up some excuse to leave before Bucky saw and everything was ruined. He’d already been taken from him so many times. Steve didn’t know if he could live through another one, especially if the cause was his own idiocy.

“Mm,” Bucky hummed from the floor. “This is excellent. Very rich. I’ll give it to the Germans- they sure know how to make a cake.”

“Mhm,” Steve agreed absentmindedly, still trying to think of a way to escape. 

“Do you remember that guy who ran the bakery on the corner of our apartment, back in Brooklyn? He made a mean cheesecake.”

“I wouldn’t remember, you always finished both our slices before I got a chance,” Steve responded drily.

Bucky laughed, throwing his head back. It landed in Steve’s lap, and he jumped a little. “Punk. Goddamn. I’m an amnesiac World War II survivor, and you’re trying to guilt trip me about some  _ cheesecake _ ?”

Steve just chuckled. “If you’re trying to make a case for how I should feel sorry for you, doing it with an entire cake in your hands is a pretty bad way of going about it.”

Bucky defiantly started in on what might have been the second slice. “I’m comforting myself.”

“Don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard with the comforting, there?” Steve shot back. The second it was out of his mouth, he regretted it. Maybe he could put on the time suit and travel back to five seconds ago, and punch himself in the face before he opened his dumb mouth.

But Bucky didn’t seem bothered. Steve couldn’t see his face, but he clapped the hand that wasn’t holding the cake to the side of his gut. It jiggled more than Steve expected. “Ha. Maybe. I’d like to see you beat me in a fight now, Rogers.”

Steve swallowed thickly. “H-how much weight is it?” he stuttered out, pressing his luck.

It took Bucky a moment to swallow his mouthful before he responded. “Dunno. Haven’t been on a scale in a while.”

“Well, how much were you back in HYDRA?” Steve asked, wanting them to continue talking about it for some reason. Bucky got a physical after every mission; surely he would’ve known his weight at one point.

“179,” he answered.

_ Holy shit _ , Steve thought. That put him well above 200. Steve himself only weighed 190 pounds.

“How much do you think I’ve gained, like thirty pounds?” Bucky asked. There was a strange vulnerability in his voice.

“Uh,” Steve kept his voice carefully even. “Maybe more like forty?” he offered. With as round as it was now, half-full of cheesecake and sitting on Bucky’s crossed legs, it looked more like the heavy side of fifty.

“Mm,” Bucky agreed, taking another bite, completely undeterred by their topic of conversation. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m gonna stop eating like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” Steve replied, nearly breathless. “I mean, if you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I know I’ll just get bigger, but I kind of… don’t mind?” Bucky continued, stating it like it was a question. “Oof. Gettin’ full. Sometimes I eat until it hurts, and then I just keep going.”

Steve was all too familiar. He’d watch Bucky finish enough food for three people, and he’d huff and move around his overfull stomach trying to grab more. “Does it hurt now?” Steve asked. He could feel his face heating up, and he was glad Bucky couldn’t see him.

Bucky shrugged. “Eh. I could stop now, but I’m not  _ full  _ full.” He looked at Steve over his shoulder again. “Do you think I stop now?” he asked, blinking up at him through thick lashes.

Steve’s dick jumped. He sat up a little more. Bucky wasn’t close enough to be able to feel it, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t see it from this angle, but he wished he could have something on his lap anyway.

He went through a couple different responses in his mind.  _ I think you should eat as much as you want, Buck, _ or even  _ yes, I think you’ve had enough. _

“You brought out the whole cake. Why don’t you just finish it?” was what he landed on.

Bucky’s eyes actually widened in response before he barked out a surprised little laugh. Steve was kind of shocked too; he couldn’t believe he’d actually fucking said that. “Jesus, Steve, you think I should finish it all? I dunno, it’s pretty thick.” 

Steve decided to play coy. “You can do it. Once you get halfway, maybe I’ll help you out.” He was screaming at himself in his head. He had no idea what he meant by  _ help out _ \- well, he did have an idea, but he wasn’t sure how Bucky would respond to the idea of a blowjob. 

“Yessir,” he responded, digging back into the cheesecake with renewed dedication. Steve was reminded of the Soldier again, how he’d respond to the orders of his Handler with killer accuracy. Steve had never commanded him all that much, but Wagner and other agents had made it clear that they saw Bucky as subhuman, just a tool to be used for whatever purposes they had. It turned Steve’s stomach to think of all the ways they might’ve used Bucky. But Steve had given him a command, just as the others had, and Bucky responded. How could Steve be sure that this was something that Bucky really wanted, and not just leftover conditioning from HYDRA to follow all orders from a former Handler?

Bucky interrupted his thoughts with a soft burp. “I’m about halfway now, Steve, and that help sure would be great,” he panted. 

Steve looked down, and indeed, the tin was half empty. “Well, how am I supposed to help you from down there?”

Bucky grunted. “Ugh. Okay. But you’re gonna have to help me up.” 

Steve stood from the chair, and held out one hand to take the pie tin, the other for Bucky. Bucky gave him his metal arm, and allowed his full weight to be pulled up with Steve’s strength. Once standing, he saved Steve from trying to guess at what he meant by plopping down on the couch and spreading his legs. Steve felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. 

“Oof,” Bucky huffed, motioning for Steve to give him back the rest of the cake. “I hope you’re really good at belly rubs, pal, cause I’m really fuckin’ full, here,” he complained.

Steve almost wished for a moment that Bucky  _ had _ meant a blowjob. He’d be less likely to spontaneously combust (although, not by much). And at least that he’d done before. He was pretty sure the only belly rub he’d ever given was to himself when he had the flu back in ‘33. 

He got on the couch, surreptitiously adjusting his cock and eyeing the task before him. Bucky’s robe had pretty much given up the ghost. The two sides were far enough apart that Steve thought they just might never meet again, and the tie had slipped low below the heavy curve of his belly. Bucky was exposed before him once more in practically nothing but his boxers.

Steve took a deep breath and laid his palms on either side of Bucky’s belly. The brunet didn’t react; he just continued to eat and look into Steve’s eyes with an impassive expression. 

Steve broke eye contact to focus on his massage.  _ Because that’s pretty much all it is, right? _ He questioned himself.  _ Just, less untying muscles, more helping fat digest. _ Shivers raced down his back. 

Bucky’s belly was warm and taut. Steve started smoothing his hands over the surface, rubbing his fingers in gentle circles. Bucky hummed in pleasure, so Steve pressed a little harder. Bucky burped again and covered his mouth. 

“Scuse me.”

Steve looked up at him. He was sitting low on the couch, and his eyes were lazy slits. He was struck by how close their faces were, how easy it would be to kiss him. Bucky’s lips were parted, a little shiny from saliva. His cheeks were flushed. Steve figured it must be from the effort of eating so much. As he’d rubbed, Bucky had eaten more cake, and only about two pieces remained. 

“C’mon Buck, you can do it. Just a little more,” Steve encouraged. God, he  _ wanted _ him to finish. 

He massaged more, getting more confident in his abilities, now, learning where to press and how to move his fingers. As he rubbed Bucky’s belly, his robe shifted more until it covered only his arms. Bucky’s gut rose from his body like a dome. Steve wanted to touch him with more than his hands; he wanted to kiss the sides, suck a hickey in the soft flesh under his naval, lick a stripe up his sternum. 

“God, it  _ hurts _ ,” Bucky moaned. Steve was almost going to tell him to stop before he spoke again. “Feels good,” he whispered, almost too quiet for Steve to hear. 

That went straight to Steve’s cock. Being so close to him, with both his hands on his bare belly was almost too much for Steve to bear. 

“Can you finish?” he asked. 

Bucky nodded with solemn determination. Steve could’ve thought he just asked him to retrieve some important document, not eat one last slice of cheesecake. “Need a break though,” he gasped. “We have any milk?”

Steve went into the kitchen and poured Bucky a tall glass, then returned to the parlour. The sight of Bucky lounging from this angle was a completely different experience than sitting with him. Steve was caught in rapture at the vision before him.

“Well, are ya gonna stand there all day, or are ya gonna give me the milk?” Bucky asked grumpily. 

Steve tried in vain not to grin and bound across the room. After Bucky took the glass, he held it to his side. Steve flapped his hands at the glass. “You just drink. I’ll do that.”

“Yessir,” Bucky responded, and Steve couldn’t be sure if it was sarcastic or not. Regardless, he put his hands on Bucky’s stomach and continued rubbing. Bucky tipped his head back and chugged the contents of the glass in one go. Steve could almost feel his belly swell with liquid like an inflating balloon. He made a mental note to add that to his spank bank’s greatest hits for later. 

With slow and exaggerated movements, Bucky picked up the pie tin and started in on the last slice. He was really sweating and panting near the end, but with one last shaky bite, he managed to finish the entire cake.

“Wow. Goddamn,” Steve exclaimed in awe. That was really the one word for it. Steve had seen some of the most beautiful sights that planet Earth had to offer, and had even been to fucking space, but nothing he’d ever seen- or ever  _ would _ see- rivaled Bucky. “Nothing even comes close,” he whispered. 

But Bucky wasn’t listening. Or, listening to him, at least. His head was inclined in the direction of the front door, and he seemed focuses. 

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked.

Bucky put up a hand, then after a moment, turned his face to Steve with a sober expression. “He’s here.”


	6. Bucky POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the remaining HYDRA agents comes after Steve and Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s another graphic mention to Bucky’s past sexual assault. Paragraph is marked with an asterisk if you want to skip

“ _ Who’s _ here?” Steve asked, sounding irritated. Bucky couldn’t blame him. There couldn’t be a worse time for that moron to find them. 

“One of the four HYDRA agents,” Bucky answered quickly. He stood up from the couch, metal arm cradling his belly, wincing as all the food inside him sloshed painfully. He leaned back on the wall next to the front doors, flattening himself against the wall as much as he could- which, considering his distended middle, wasn’t much. He could only imagine how he must look, comically full. He could only imagine what HYDRA would say if they could see him now, what Steve might say if he was still acting as his Handler.

_ Look at yourself, boy. You’re getting soft _ \- 

Fuck. He  _ had _ to focus, or he’d slip up. Now was no time to think about what he wanted Steve to do to him, not when the fourth HYDRA agent was mere feet from their door. 

Earlier in the day, he’d been pursuing one of his leads on the location of a warehouse up North the agents were using. Apparently, some of them had returned to the headquarters in Russia, but two of them stayed in Germany and were planning to capture Steve and Bucky. He’d met up with a man who claimed to have information, but was actually the fourth HYDRA agent in disguise. Bucky won the fight easily, knocking him out and pursuing the third agent. He’d evaded the Winter Soldier, so Bucky returned home for some rest before he continued. 

As he finished his last slice of cheesecake and dropped his head back onto the armrest of the sofa, he heard something like a silenced gunshot in the apartment below them. Steve had been too distracted to notice. It was fortunate that Bucky wasn’t.

_ If you’re distracted from your mission, even for a second, you’re showing weakness. Vulnerability will get you killed, _ the Asset hissed.  _ Everything you do should be for the benefit of the mission. How the fuck does eating an entire cheesecake benefit the downfall of HYDRA? _

There was a knock on the door. Bucky nodded for Steve to answer it. Steve opened the door next to Bucky, offering a corner for him to hide behind. 

“ _ Guten abend, _ ” the maid greeted Steve. Bucky recognized her face through the crack- he’d seen her working in the hotel before, so that must mean-- 

A distraction. 

Bucky whipped his head to look at the window on the far end of the room behind Steve, just in time to see a HYDRA agent shoot a crossbow through the window. 

“ _ Get down! _ ” he slammed the door shut on the maid, tackling Steve to the ground and rolling away from the arrow. It struck the door with a stead  _ thok _ , but no one was harmed. 

The fourth agent was crouched in the window frame, but he hopped down and strode into the room. 

_ “Zhelaniye… rzhavyy… semnadtsat…” _ the agent began.

Bucky sunk to the ground in panic, clutching at his face. He could feel the ice rushing back over him, the cold grip of someone else in his mind. His vision was blurring into double, he could feel the bones breaking under his unyielding grip--

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve growled, throwing a punch at the agent. He dodged with ease and balanced on his hand while he kicked at Steve’s feet. Steve jumped to the side, coiling back on his left foot and kicking the agent square in the jaw with his right. The agent fell back, but sprung to his feet a moment later. Steve groaned, and aimed another punch at his face. The agent stepped to the side, pulling out a pistol and firing at Steve.

Bucky was able to regain control of his mind, running to the agent and snatching his gun, shattering it in his metal hand. With his organic arm, he held him up to the wall. “Where is your Captain?!” he spat in his face. He could feel Steve standing just behind him, ready to back him up.

The agent laughed. “I’d prefer death over betrayal.” He ran his tongue along his bottom teeth.

“Steve, the suicide tooth!” Bucky ducked as Steve smashed his fist into the agent’s jaw, pulling the false tooth out before the agent had a chance to release the poison. “Nice try,” Bucky growled.

The agent just smiled. “So predictable…” he sung. 

Bucky looked over to Steve in confusion, then down at the metal tooth in his hand. It flashed red. “Steve, it’s a bomb!” He dropped the agent and dove for the window. As he was sailing through the air to the ground below, the explosion sounded behind him and he was smacked forward by the blast. Before he had a chance to hit the ground, arms wrapped around his waist and they landed with a heavy- yet safe- thud. 

He turned to see that he was in Steve’s arms. The blond was a little singed, with a bruise on his forehead and a few scratches and cuts on his limbs, but safe.

“What took you so long?” Bucky snapped.

Steve tossed him a lopsided grin. “This.” He held up his precious duffle bag, which contained the time suit he’d told Bucky about, as well as other future technology devices. 

A crowd was gathering in response to the explosion in the hotel. Bucky pulled on Steve’s arm. “We should take cover.”

A train whistle sounded in the distance, and Steve nodded. “Hate trains enough to never board one again?”

 

\--

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a private train compartment, bound north to look for the third agent. Bucky’s stomach was churning and groaning, but he was honestly just thankful he hadn’t vomited. The Asset was reprimanding him inside his head, hissing about what could have happened if he hadn’t noticed in time. 

“Buck. Bucky!” Steve said again, and Bucky tore his gaze away from the window. The blond seemed concerned.

“Hm?” 

“I said, are you okay?” Steve was sitting across from him, even though there was plenty of room for them to sit side by side. He had the duffel bag on his lap. 

Bucky looked out the window again, at the brush growing near the tracks zooming past the train. “You could’ve been hurt, getting your bag instead of jumping like that.”

“Don’t worry about me, Buck. I made it out okay-” Steve began.

“No,” Bucky interrupted. “It’s not that. Why would you risk your life for a bag at all?”

Steve looked stricken. “You don’t understand… this has the time suit in it. That’s the only way I can get home.”

Bucky felt tears prick the back of his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. “I thought this was your home,” he mumbled to the glass. 

“Oh…. Bucky, no… I mean, I’m so glad I could come here, it’s just… people are waiting for me in the future, you know? There’s Sam, and Nat’s back by now, and Scott…” He went on, naming other people that Bucky’d heard him talk about, but he didn’t name Bucky. 

“No, I get it. You just came back to be with your girlfriend, and after she moved on you just got stuck with me.” He was angry with himself, angry that he could believe himself to be so important to Steve, when clearly, he was just a distraction. 

“Buck,” Steve put out a hand to hold his arm. Bucky stood, walking out the compartment. 

“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to be stuck anymore, okay? I’ll give you the room. You can put on your time suit and go home. I can take out HYDRA by myself.” He left, sliding the door shut behind him. Steve didn’t protest. 

He could feel more tears welling up. He kind of wanted to go to the dining car and drown his sorrows in whatever dessert they were serving, but his gurgling stomach reminded him that there was no way he’d be eating for another two hours, at least. He walked aimlessly through the cars instead, headed for the caboose. He was glad to be in some normal looking clothes, at least, so he didn’t alarm the other riders. After Steve purchased the tickets, he took him into a thrift store to quickly find something that was better-fitting and less conspicuous than his burnt robe. 

He reached the last car and stepped outside, onto the porch. He held onto the railing and looked West, to where the sun was disappearing behind the wall. 

He was suddenly reminded that his birthday was in three days. He would turn 54. He didn’t look it- he’d only been awake for missions in the last 26 years, anyway. Even Steve was biologically older by… well, he wasn’t sure how much, with the future and all… but the serum kept him looking closer to his late twenties than anything else. 

But god, he  _ felt  _ it. He was so tired, down to his bones, and he felt so empty. An uncommon light and warmth had come to his life these last seven months, and he should have known it would be taken from him before he could really get a chance to enjoy it. 

He was certain he could take down HYDRA alone. There were only three agents left, after all. It was after that he was worried about. Steve had said he was there in the future. Bucky had no idea what he was supposed to do with however many years there were between what he had now and what he would have then. 

He felt asleep, in more ways than one. It seemed that the only time he was awake was when Steve was in his life, in any way he could get him, and now he felt him leaving again. He wanted to clutch to consciousness, to beg Steve to stay with him. He wanted to confess everything that was inside his heart, everything that he’d known since they were children. He wanted to apologize for being so rude, in the cabin, so difficult in Berlin, so clearly not who Steve wanted. 

He let the tears fall freely down his face, the wind whipping them away before they even made it to his cheeks. He wanted to be what Steve wanted, but he didn’t know how.

He felt better after a good cry. Night had fallen, and the stars were bright this far from the city. He went back into his cabin, from lack of a better option. To his surprise, he found Steve curled up in the lower bunk. He must’ve pulled the bed down after Bucky left. 

He could tell by Steve’s breathing that he was still awake. “You didn’t go?” he asked before he thought better of it. 

“I’m gonna finish what I started, Buck. Once all the agents are dead, then I’ll go.” 

Bucky never wanted HYDRA to be dead less. He wasn’t surprised. Captain America was a hero, and he was needed in his own time. It was selfish of him to try and keep him all for himself. “Well, scoot out, I’ve got the lower bunk,” he responded gruffly.

“Can’t fit on top,” Steve shot back, voice a little muffled by the pillow. He made no effort to move. 

“And you think  _ I’m _ going to fit any better?” Steve didn’t respond. “Where the hell am I supposed to sleep, then?”

“There’s room.” 

Bucky eyed the bunk. There was  _ barely _ room. But honestly? He would always prefer getting squished in with Steve than having enough space on his own. 

He took off his coat and pants and got into the bunk with Steve, not missing how it dipped significantly under their combined weight. It held, though, and soon enough he dropped off to sleep with Steve pressed tightly against him in the close quarters.

 

\--

The last stop of the train was the town of Rostock. It was an entirely different scene than Berlin, with castles and cobblestone streets. Steve got them an apartment in the upper room of an inn that overlooked the river. 

“Sorry,” Steve apologized, when they entered the room. He set his duffle down on the floor, the only belongings they had between them. “I know it’s a little different from the penthouse.” He hadn’t bothered asking for two beds when reserving the room. 

Bucky looked around. There was only one room, with a bathroom door next to a small closet. The main feature was the bed, the other furniture being a desk and a throne-like chair in the corner. The log interior of the inn made it dark and warm, and there was a single window above the bed, much too small for anyone larger than a child to crawl through. It was barely a step above the apartment they’d shared in Brooklyn. Bucky liked it. 

“It’s fine, Steve.” He collapsed on the bed, sore from sleeping poorly in the train. 

The blond seemed nervous, wringing his hands and pacing restlessly. “Do you want food?”

It was mid-morning. They’d had breakfast on the train; peaches and cream for Steve, and two bowls of oatmeal for Bucky. “I could eat.”

The inn below them served tavern food, gamey meat and a variety of pies and things. Bucky wanted to explore the town, though; he wanted to get a layout of the streets, and maybe see if there were any traces of the last three agents. The news of the fourth one’s death would likely have reached them by now. Bucky knew they’d have a change in strategy; now that they knew he was willing to protect what he had, they’d get backup to bring him back to Russia. Bucky wanted to make sure he got to them before they had a chance. 

They walked along the river in the early March sunshine, and Steve bought them some fresh pretzels from a vendor on the street. Bucky tried to enjoy himself, but he couldn’t help the feeling that a HYDRA agent lurked behind every shadow. 

The days passed, and before Bucky knew it, it was his birthday. 

Steve hadn’t forgotten for even a second, though, as Bucky discovered when he returned to their room that night. When he’d woken, Steve had already been gone, and there was a sweet note on the bedpost that read “ _ Buck- good morning. Gone out for errands. Be back for dinner. Steve x” _ . His heart had jumped at the little ‘x’, and he spent the rest of the day convincing himself that Steve didn’t mean it as a kiss. 

Just as the red sun started to dip low in the sky, Bucky made his way down from the cathedral and to the inn. 

He opened the door to a dark apartment, and immediately had his gun out. The light behind the bed went on, and Bucky attacked the assailant, tackling him to the floor. 

“Happy birthday, Buck!” Steve said cheerily, not looking the least bit surprised that he’d been wrestled to the floor by his roommate. 

_ You’re a danger to everyone around you. You could’ve killed him,  _ the Asset hissed. 

Bucky blinked, sitting up and standing off of Steve. “Uh…” he swallowed an apology, looking around the room to the banner hung from the ceiling, the confetti on the floor, the party hat on Steve’s head. “Stevie… you shouldn’t--”

Steve put up a hand to stop him, getting up from off the ground. “‘Course I did. I mean, hell, Buck, we only get to spend so many birthdays together. You deserve a party.”

Bucky disagreed, but he was grateful, nevertheless. He embraced Steve, giving him a real hug, maybe for the first time since they were in the rain that night in Berlin. It felt so nice, to have Steve’s arms around him, his firm stomach pressed up against Bucky’s softer one. He was reminded of his hunger, having not eaten in a few hours for preparation of dinner. It had become a sort of tradition between them; no matter where the two of them went in the day, they always met back and shared a nice dinner in their customary corner table of the inn. Bucky saw that Steve had brought their dinner up for tonight. The two chairs were pulled up to the desk to act as a makeshift table. Bucky chuckled when he saw the cake. 

“‘Happy birthday, jerk’?” he read. 

Steve smiled. “I would’ve told them to put candles on it, but I didn’t want the whole building to burn down.”

Bucky lightly punched Steve’s shoulder and took his seat, excitedly cutting slices off the roast beef and serving Steve and himself some green beans and mashed potatoes. “Aren’t you really old too?”

Steve sat in the desk chair. “Forty. Technically. For as long as I’ve been awake.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look a day over 25. “How old are you for as long as you’ve been sleeping?”

Steve thought for a moment. “105,” he answered. 

Bucky whistled. “And  _ I’m  _ the old man?”

Steve laughed, accepting his plate. “You’re still one year older than me, where I come from. Well, technically I guess you’re four years younger than me, ‘cause of the… never mind. You were still born a year earlier than me.”

Bucky took notice of Steve’s change in demeanor when he mentioned the lost five years, but he chose not to comment on it. “Are we close? In the future?” he asked, hating the insecurity in his voice.

“Of course, Buck. How could we not be?” Steve answered, but he sounded like he was lying. 

He wanted to ask what would happen. Part of him wanted to know when Steve came out of the ice, when they reconnected, how they took down HYDRA, why they weren’t as close as before. But he was afraid, too. Partially because he wasn’t sure how all this time travel stuff worked and he didn’t want to ruin anything, and partially because he didn’t want to know if the ending was sad.

_ You don’t deserve a happy ending, _ the Asset reminded him. 

The roast beef was excellent. He served himself two more slices while Steve was still working on his first, and then after Steve had his second, there were only three left and he figured he’d just finish them. He was beginning to feel pleasantly full, and the new pants he’d gotten last week were starting to get snug, but not to the point where they were actually too small. 

He sat back, sipping his beer. Steve cut into the cake, revealing that it was chocolate under the white frosting. He took out the small slice and set it on his own plate, before sliding the remaining cake over to Bucky.

He huffed out a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You’ve eaten an entire cake before,” Steve said, his voice strangely harsh. Bucky’s dick jumped at the way he sounded; entirely without empathy, like he didn’t care if Bucky was capable of finishing it. It was thrilling.

“Yeah, but that was when I didn’t have a whole six fucking slices of roast beef.”

Steve shrugged. “Not my fault. Anyway, this is a small cake.” It was probably only about six inches in diameter, but it looked moist and rich. “Besides, you’re bigger than you were then,” Steve added, his voice low and husky.

Bucky sucked in a breath. It was true, but he didn’t think Steve had noticed. He’d probably put on five pounds just in the two or so weeks since he’d had the cheesecake. If he  _ really _ pushed himself- and being entirely honest, he would’ve walked through fire if Steve asked him- he could probably finish it.

He pulled it toward himself with a sigh of resignation. “I had help last time, though. You gonna help me again?” He took his first bite, eyeing Steve from the side of his vision. 

Steve frowned thoughtfully, like he was considering the idea. “Sure, but you have to finish three quarters of it first.”

“ _ Three quarters _ ?” Bucky griped, but he was already halfway through the first piece. He’d do anything to get Steve’s hands on him. 

He worked through it methodically. It was thick and difficult to eat quickly, but the taste was so inviting it made him forget how full he was. As he ate, he was vaguely aware that Steve was watching him. He liked the thought of performing for Steve a little. And it was a performance, shoving cake down his throat all for his best friend. It always had been. What surprised him was how obviously Steve was paying attention to him. He looked oddly at ease, a little pleased with Bucky’s obedience. His azure eyes were heavy lidded, and a slow smirk played on his lips. It was nothing like how Bucky was used to seeing him, and he wondered what he might really be like in bed. He’d been fantasizing him in a sort of distant way, a kind of consolation to the thought that even if they would never be lovers they could at least be friends.

But the way Steve was looking at him was just plain  _ filthy _ , a naked sort of want he didn’t bother to disguise, made Bucky think it could be more than a possibility.

“Alright,” Steve said when Bucky had two slices remaining.

“But this isn’t a quarter, since you had one,” Bucky pointed out.

“Fine, have it your way-” Steve began.

“No,” Bucky interrupted, setting his fork down. 

“Beg,” Steve commanded, and a shiver went down Bucky’s spine. 

He blinked at Steve for a moment, unsure of the words he’d just heard. Steve’s face was perfectly cool and impassive. “What?” 

“Beg,” Steve repeated. “Beg for my help.”

Bucky swallowed. “Please, Steve. Please help.”

Steve just crossed his arms, emphasizing his huge chest in his tiny shirt. Bucky’s mouth went dry. “Help you how?”

Bucky felt so exposed, having to say the words out loud. “Please give me a belly rub?”

“Why do you want a belly rub?”

Bucky’s cheeks were scarlet, he was sure, and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wished he could just go back to eating, so he could do something with his hands.

Fortunately, Steve continued. “Do you need a belly rub because you ate too much? Did you eat too much cake on your birthday, and now you need me to make you feel better? Is that what you need?”

Bucky nodded, feeling the blush spread to the tips of his ears. Hot shame was burning right through him, and he was pretty sure he’d never been so hard in his fucking life. 

Steve went on. “Do you keep eating until you’re so full it hurts, until you can’t breathe comfortably, until you stop fitting in any of your clothes? Do you eat whole cakes in one sitting on top of full dinners? Do you snack all day and get up in the middle of the night for more, too?” Bucky didn’t know Steve knew about that. “Are you a fat little pig?”

Bucky gasped, absolutely scandalized. He’d never thought he’d hear such words from Steve’s mouth, but  _ god, _ he was loving it. “Yes, Steve. Holy shit. I’m a fat pig,” he admitted. 

Steve smiled pleasantly. “Good boy. Take your cake and sit on the bed, then take off your pants.”

Bucky scrambled to obey, tripping over himself a little. He sat in the middle of the bed and set the cake next to him, then began removing his pants. It felt wonderful, undoing the button and letting the zipper slide down, pulling them from his chunky hips and letting his gut spill free.

Steve walked from the desk in slow, deliberate movements, taking off his belt and setting it on the nightstand. Bucky eyed it for a moment, wondering what Steve meant to do with it, but then his eyes were drawn to Steve’s erection tenting the front of his denim. 

He hadn’t seen Steve’s dick, not since before the serum. It had been pretty much the only big thing on him back then, besides his goddamn mouth. He’d walked into Steve jacking off once, when he got home from work early. Steve had never even seen him. His eyes were screwed shut in bliss, one scrawny hand wrapped around himself. Bucky had stepped back out into the hall quickly and walked around the block before going back in, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind afterward. He used to lay awake in bed at night and think about Steve shoving him down, lining up and pushing right into him, his tiny little body covering Bucky’s. 

Hell, he wanted it  _ now _ , and he had to check to make sure he wasn’t dreaming up the look in Steve’s eyes that said he wanted it, too. 

“Comfortable?” Steve asked, voice rough and assertive. Bucky hadn’t ever heard him speak like that, even when he was a CO in the army. He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak normally. Steve jutted his chin in the direction of Bucky’s shirt. “That too.”

Bucky was wearing a grey wool sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes, and nothing underneath. He’d forgone an undershirt in consideration of the inconsistent March weather. As he peeled it off over his head, he could feel Steve’s eyes on his belly. He was sure it looked massive, as packed with food as it was. 

Steve’s hands were on him in an instant, and they felt cool in comparison to the digesting mass around his middle. 

“Keep eating,” Steve commanded after a moment, and he realized that he’d forgotten about the cake. 

He picked it up, taking a deep breath. Suddenly he really felt all of the cake sitting so heavy in his gut. He groaned a little. 

“C’mon, you can do it. Just a few more bites,” Steve urged.

Bucky cut the corner of the cake off, putting it in his mouth and humming around the flavour. “You know, if you make me eat a whole fucking cake every two weeks, I’m really gonna get fat,” he muttered, mouth full. Mostly he just wanted to hear Steve’s response.

“‘Gonna get’?” Steve repeated, delivering a sharp little slap to the side of Bucky’s gut. 

His entire torso shook with the ripple, and he winced a little. “Ow,” he hissed, sucking in a breath. “Careful. Sensitive.”

Steve rubbed his hand over the area like he was apologizing, then he looked up at Bucky through his lashes. “Think you can finish?”

Bucky contemplated the cake. There was really only about six bites left, and he was feeling better now that he was laying down in just his boxers. Before he had a moment to say so, Steve spoke.

“If you do, I’ll give you a blow job.”

Bucky feigned coyness to try and cover his absolute shock. “What makes you think I want one?” he sassed, but the second it was out of his mouth, he realized what a dumb play it was.

Steve raised an eyebrow and just nodded down at Bucky’s hard cock, painfully obvious as it was restricted by nothing but his cotton briefs. When he looked back up at Bucky though, his expression changed. “Really, if you want me to stop-”

“No.” Bucky cut off that particular train of thought before it went any further. “Don’t stop.”

“What’s your safeword?” 

“Safeword?” Bucky repeated.

“It’s a word you use that means ‘no more’. It’s helpful if you’re… uh, if you’re in a situation where you might not mean ‘stop’ or ‘no’. Like a truce.”

*Bucky understood. His Handlers would beat him past his breaking point, fuck right into him raw and unprepared and mercilessly while he was sobbing and begging for them to stop. He understood that Steve didn’t want to hurt him, even as he understood that he wanted Steve to hurt him, a little. He was a little amazed at the apparent effect the future had on Steve.

“Freight car,” he said, decisively. 

Steve nodded. If he was surprised by Bucky choosing one of his wake words, he didn’t show it.

Bucky cut off the next slices of the cake, as big as he could manage. He swallowed the last of it down, and a few moments of panting later, he was finished.

“Done,” he exclaimed, dropping the plate and fork onto the nightstand and leaning back. He felt stretched tight, too big for his skin. His briefs were cutting into him, and he shoved the waistband down under the swell of his gut. His limbs were spread out to allow his middle as much room as he could offer it, and he was alarmed at how his belly was nearly brushing thighs. He was sure that if he was sitting upright, it would have been sitting on them. 

“Goddamn,” Steve breathed, and Bucky was inclined to agree. “How do you feel?”

“Like I ate a whole fucking cheesecake,” Bucky growled.

Steve just pet the side of his belly, not looking one bit sorry. “Aw, baby. You look stuffed to the brim.”

Bucky could’ve died happy right then at the pet name. He wanted Steve to touch him more, to take anything he wanted. He wanted to be a toy for him, a device for Steve to use for his pleasure. 

But he was more worried about what Steve would think if he voiced his desires. Steve knew how he’d been treated in HYDRA. He didn’t want Steve to think that he was fucked up.

He was fucked up. What else could he call it, when he’d been captured and tortured against his will, when his Handlers had beat him and used him, and now that he had finally found the only normal thing in his life, he was asking him to do the same?

It all came to the surface and bubbled over. Tears began to fall from his eyes. 

Steve had been rubbing his belly more, focusing on the broad curve of it, but when he heard Bucky sniffle he looked up.

He cupped Bucky’s cheek so delicately that it just made him cry more. How could he possibly ask this gentle man to be so rough to him when it was so against everything he knew Steve to be? “Hey, Buck, what’s the matter?”

Bucky opened his mouth to vocalize his thoughts, but all that escaped was a pathetic whimper. 

Steve leaned forward and held him tight, and it felt so nice. It only made everything hurt more. “Shh, it’s okay. I know. We’ve been through so much, I know. It’s okay. We’re here now.”

Bucky full-on sobbed, too tired to care about how stupid he seemed. Steve came to his side and helped him settle down, and he laid in foetal position on the bed with his head in Steve’s lap. He was playing with Bucky’s hair again, and he thought he might never get tired of the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair. 

He cried for a good while, feeling better already. Something was spreading outward from his heart, like he was being bathed in sunlight. After a while, he turned to look at Steve. The blond was smiling down at him.

“Feel better?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. He’d gone soft, and was too tired to be interested in blow jobs. “I’m sorry I ruined our night.”

“Hey.” Bucky sat up and Steve held the brunet’s head in both his hands. “You didn’t ruin anything. Okay? Say it.”

“I didn’t ruin anything,” Bucky repeated.

“Good boy. It’s not good to keep that inside, okay? You can tell me anything.” 

Bucky swallowed, then yawned.

Steve laughed. “You want to sleep now?”

Bucky nodded, slowly getting under the covers. Steve joined him, spooning him from the back and resting his hands on Bucky’s full tummy.

“Okay. Goodnight, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @roe87 for suggesting that when Steve goes back in time to return the soul stone, Nat comes back. That’s canon now.


	7. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve puts his belt to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real porn this time guys ;)   
> This includes spanking, so if that ain’t your jam, maybe sit this one out  
> Tbh I doubt you’d come this far if this isn’t what you’re looking for tho so come get y’all juice  
> Also, more warnings for some serious discussion before sex. It falls under the category of kink negotiation, where Bucky talks about his past and how he wants Steve to be with him

Steve was woken by an elbow to the face. He woke ready to fight off an assailant, but it was just Bucky spinning over clumsily in his sleep. Steve smiled when he saw Bucky’s face, his hair messed up from the night and drool drying on his chin. 

He stayed there for a while, just looking at the lines and shapes of his face, even though he knew them all by heart.

Bucky woke calmly, which was a nice surprise. He blinked his steel blue eyes open, and Steve could see his reflection in his pupils. “Good morning,” he mumbled, voice low and rough.

Steve felt warmth explode in his chest.  _ Fuck, I love him, _ he thought. He’d said it before a few times- they both had. It had been nothing more than a quick utterance of sentiment between friends, Steve had been sure, and he always felt bad about the way his heart had skipped a beat, sure that Bucky had only meant it casually. He wanted to tell him, but he wasn’t sure the moment was right. 

“Morning,” he said back.

Bucky knitted his brows together, rolled his lips as his eyes flicked lower on Steve’s face, then he leaned his head across the pillows and kissed Steve’s lips.

Steve took in a quick breath, shocked, but relaxed a moment later. Bucky’s lips were impossibly soft, and he’d been waiting a lifetime to feel them. It was a little sloppy, laying sideways as they both were, but Steve wouldn’t have asked for anything better. 

Bucky hummed into the kiss, and against reason, Steve opened his eyes and tried to focus on Bucky’s lashes brushing his cheeks. Bucky pulled away and chuckled. “Your eyes were open?”

“Uh,” Steve replied. 

Bucky rolled onto his back and sat up, then swung his left leg over Steve, straddling his waist. “Sit up,” he suggested, patting Steve’s shoulder. Steve grunts exaggeratedly, shuffling backward and sitting more upright. The truth is, it’s not hard for him to move even with Bucky pinning him down to the mattress, even now that Bucky’s heavier. He wished he was normal for a moment, just so he could feel Bucky really crush him. 

Bucky smiled patiently, then cupped Steve’s face in his hands and kissed him, licking into his mouth. Steve could’ve done without the morning breath, but the taste behind it was all  _ Bucky, _ all James Buchanan Barnes. All his.

“All mine,” he whispered out loud by accident. 

Bucky smiled, all wolfish teeth glinting in the dusty morning sunlight. “Oh, is that how it is?”

Steve blushed a little, suddenly uncertain of himself, uncertain of what Bucky wanted him to give him. “If that’s how you want it.”

Bucky wiggled a little on Steve’s lap, making his hard on apparent. “Yeah. That’s how I want it.”

Steve was almost content to let him grind off on Steve’s leg for a little while, just watch him get himself excited, but he was so tired of missing chances. He’d missed his chance when they were kids. He’d missed his chance in the war, during the Howling Commandos. He missed his chance after, when Bucky had fallen off the train, and he missed his chance in the future when he’d been Dusted. Now he was in a chance he’d never thought would have existed, with the future seeming more and more like a distant uncertainty. “I want to fuck you,” he whispered. Bucky threw his head back, groaning and clutching at the comforter. “Is that okay?” Steve asked.

“Fuck, yes, it’s okay.” Bucky got off him, kneeling on the bed and moving his briefs down off his ass. “Been awhile,” he muttered. 

Steve didn’t want to think about what that meant. He got out from under the blankets, kneeling beside Bucky and kissing his metal shoulder. “I’ll be gentle.”

Bucky met his eyes. “No. Please, Steve. I know you’re trying to be nice, but I don’t… I don’t want it gentle.” 

Steve was a little horrified, but he was trying not to let it show on his face. By Bucky’s crestfallen expression, he guessed he’d failed. “Buck, I…”

“No, never mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He looked away, back up to the window. His eyes were illuminated by the sun, making them look like they glowed from inside his head. He almost looked like he was praying, kneeling before the window in a ray of sunlight. Steve was reminded it had been so long since he’d prayed.

Steve took Bucky’s chin, feeling the softness there. “Hey. I’m not going to do this if you don’t feel like you can talk to me, okay? We should be able to do that, at least.” Bucky nodded. “What do you mean?”

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t want to scare you…” he started. 

“You’re not going to,” Steve said solemnly, like a promise. It wasn’t true, but it was what Bucky needed to hear. The truth was, Steve had no idea what Bucky was going to say, but he wanted to be able to hear it. He wanted to be that strong for Bucky, even if he couldn’t be strong for himself.

“You know the second after you drop something, when it’s soaring through the air and it hasn’t broken yet, and it’s like time slows down and you’re watching yourself?” Steve nodded. “It’s like that, sort of. It doesn’t always feel like it was me, what they did to the Asset.” he shuddered, but went on. “The way  _ I _ was when I was the Asset didn’t feel like me.”

Steve’s taken back to the future for a moment, Bucky looking over at him with sadness in his eyes, hair cropped to his chin.  _ It was still me, Steve. I still did all of those things. _ He wondered what happened after this point, to make Bucky shift from viewing himself as a dichotomy to a single entity. 

“It hardly bothers me, most of the time. I just figured you’d want to know. But I wouldn’t have wanted it to happen,” he rushed to say, but Steve wasn’t speaking. “I would’ve saved myself for you, Steve. If I had a choice, I only wanted it to be you.”

“ _ Buck, _ ” Steve starts, not sure if they’re talking about the same thing anymore. “Of course you wouldn’t have chosen to be raped.” He nearly stutters over the word, the first time either of them have said it. Bucky doesn’t flinch. “That’s not your fault.”

Bucky’s face is impassive, shut up and sealed off. Steve hopes it’s only because it’s the only way he can talk about these things. “I should’ve done something,” he spits out, tersely. “I was afraid, but that was selfish. If I’d only struggled more, fought harder-”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,  _ no _ ,” Steve said with such authority he didn’t even recognize his own voice. Bucky shut up, thankfully, shocked into silence. “I love you, but no. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault, and it doesn’t matter if you could’ve done something to stop them. HYDRA is full of horrible, disgusting human beings, and what they did to you is part of that evil, and  _ none _ of it is your fault.” Bucky looked like he still wanted to argue, but he didn’t say anything. Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. In the recovery support group he ran, he learned how to deal with post-trauma victims. Hell, the stuff he learned even helped him cope himself, with the non consensual things SHIELD had done with his abilities, with his information. But this was the 70s, when such topics were brushed under a rug and told not to draw attention to themselves. “Okay?”

Bucky nodded, slowly. He didn’t look like he got it, entirely, but Steve wasn’t about to press the issue. “I just… don’t want it gentle.”

Steve waited for him to go on, and when he didn’t, he prompted him. “Why?”

Bucky’s face screwed up in concentration. “I… it’s hard to explain.” Steve wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to start until Bucky had it figured out, but he went on this time. “I guess I feel like I don’t… deserve it? Gentle? I don’t know, that sounds bad.” 

Steve sighed. “I’ll give it to you rough, if you want, Buck, but I want you to know that you do deserve all of the gentleness the world has to offer. Even if you don’t believe it, I want you to know it.” 

Bucky’s jaw ticked as he clenched the muscles. “I can try.”

“I’m just worried that if I do it like that, I won’t be any different than HYDRA,” Steve admitted.

Bucky rested his head on Steve’s bare chest, sitting instead of kneeling. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, voice a little muffled by his curtain of hair. “I didn’t  _ want _ what HYDRA gave me. But I want it from you. It’s like…”

“Like you’re letting me do to you what they did because you trust me?”

Bucky raised his head. “Sort of? Is that fucked up?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m the best authority on what’s fucked up. But, I want you to know that your consent is yours to give. And if you don’t give it to me, I won’t be mad or disappointed. I’ll just stop.”

Bucky nodded. “I know that. I do.”

Steve would’ve felt better, but his chest still felt tight at the thought of the horrible things that were done to Bucky.  _ I could’ve prevented that _ , his thoughts whispered.  _ I could’ve come twenty five years earlier and stopped any of it from happening. But I was only worried about myself. _

He’d gone soft during the conversation, and truth be told, he wasn’t really interested in sex at the moment. Bucky kissed him again on the nose, and Steve was about to ask if he wanted a raincheck when the brunet spoke.

“I love you too, by the way.”

“Hm?” Steve asked, then remembered. He’d let it slip out. He wasn’t sorry. 

Bucky’s stomach grumbled and Steve chuckled. “Hungry?” 

Bucky nodded, blushing a little. His belly wasn’t as round as last night, but Steve could’ve sworn there was more softness than before. Bucky was still sitting with his feet to the side, ass out of his briefs. He looked relaxed, his belly pooching over his waistband and resting on the thigh of his upper leg. Steve wanted to know more than ever what the exact number of his weight was. 

Steve stood from the bed, looking for where he’d put his pants the night before. “I can go pick up some breakfast and come back.”

Steve pulled on a t shirt and jacket and left. One of the street vendors was selling fresh quiche that made Steve’s mouth water at his the scent, so he bought it and returned. Bucky was sitting completely naked on the bed, so Steve stripped to his underwear and sat on the on bed like it was perfectly normal.

Bucky eyed the quiche. “I suppose you expect me to finish the entire goddamn thing too, huh?”

“No, not all of it,” Steve replied sweetly. “I want breakfast too.” 

“Hm,” Bucky grunted, but his dick betrayed his excitement at the idea. 

It was still steaming hot, so Steve cut it into fourths and grabbed a quarter for himself. It was broccoli and bacon, with other flavours spicing the egg. The crust was flaky and light, and Steve was glad that he’d taken more than an eighth for himself. As he finished his plate, Bucky was finishing the other half. It was certainly lighter and shallower than more dense things Steve had seen him eat, so he didn’t think he’d have so much trouble with it. It seemed like it’d become a tradition between them, Bucky eating a variety of circular foods. This time, Steve was determined that nothing would distract them from their goal.

While Bucky finished the last quarter, he started to slow down, and Steve began a belly rub without asking. Bucky paused when he had just a little left, panting and sweating a little. “D’ya think this is weird?” he asked Steve.

Steve looked up into his ghost grey eyes. “‘Bout as weird as anything else we do.”

Bucky chuckled, looking down at his full belly. Completely naked like this, he looked extremely round, all plump skin and soft rolls. “Christ, I’m getting fat, huh?”

“Mhm,” Steve agreed pleasantly, not bothering to stop touching him. 

“Do you mind?” he asked, voice small.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, I mind, how dare you,” he said sarcastically, pushing the tin a little closer to Bucky’s mouth. The brunet got the idea and continued eating. “That’s why my hands are all over you and I’m about to cream my boxers. Will you hurry up?”

Bucky grinned at him, but the sharp effect was lost a little in the way his eyes were heavy and lazy. He finished the last of it in a few bites, and Steve kissed the crumbs from his face. It didn’t feel weird, Steve thought. It didn’t feel anything less than natural and completely right and the answer his heart had been aching to know for the better part of a century. 

Bucky sighed and set the tin on the nightstand. “ _ Now _ will you fuck me?” he demanded.

Steve gave him an even look. “I decide when you get fucked, boy,” he said, trying out the ‘not gentle’ thing.

Bucky looked thrilled. “But I want your dick inside me _ , _ ” Bucky whined.

“Don’t push it. You’ll get my cock if you’re good.” Steve had never spoken to anyone like this before, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was doing it right. 

Bucky’s eyes fluttered like Steve had said the sexiest thing he’d ever heard, though, so Steve figured it was okay. “What if I’m not good? What do I get then?” His voice had taken a high pitch, like he was a bratty kid. 

“Then you get spanked,” Steve answered, matter of factly. 

Bucky sat up, eyes sparkling and dick jumping. “I don’t want to get spanked,” he said, his words in such clear contrast from his interests. “I want to you to fuck me, and I want it  _ now _ .”

Steve shook his head,  _ tsk _ ing. “I’m warning you. You try and tell me what to do one more time, and I’m going to make your ass so sore you won’t sit comfortably for a week.”

Bucky got right up in his face. “I’d like to see you try.”

Steve put a hand on his neck and pushed him right down to the bed. Bucky didn’t put up much of a fight, not like he’d been expecting him to. He manhandled him onto his lap, dicks pressing into each other’s thighs. “You asked for it,” he sighed ruefully.

“Go ahead, old man. Doubt you got it in ya,” Bucky tossed gleefully over his shoulder.

Before he had a chance to continue, Steve’s hit his ass with his open hand. Bucky hissed and turned his head forward. “Want to run that by me again?” Steve asked, striking him again. Already, his ass was pinking up. 

“No,” Bucky responded weakly.

Steve struck him harder, watching the fat on his back ripple. “That’s, ‘no,  _ sir _ ,” He commanded, smacking him once more. “Got that?”

“Yes, Sir!” Bucky cried. His ass was properly red now, and Steve could feel wetness on his thigh from where precome escaped from the head of Bucky’s dick. 

“Young people have no respect,” Steve grumbled. He hadn’t expected himself to enjoy it as much as he was, but it wasn’t hard to lean into the grumpy old man bit. “I guess I’m just going to have to teach you a lesson.” He tapped Bucky on the ass lightly, signaling for him to get up. He kneeled, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder for support and using his metal arm to rub his tender ass. 

“Stand next to the bed and lean over,” Steve told him, standing and taking his belt from his jeans on the floor. He’d seen Bucky look at it yesterday, and it gave him an idea. “You remember your safeword?” he asked before starting.

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say it. Steve laid the buckle on his back, and Bucky shivered at the cool metal. 

“But my hand isn’t enough to set you right, is it, boy? You need something a little harder.”

“ _ Yes _ , Sir,” Bucky moaned, legs shaking a little. It couldn’t have been comfortable, to lay on his full tummy like that.

Steve picked up the belt and slid the strip through the buckle, making a loose loop. He felt Bucky’s ass for a minute, running his palm over the round curve of it, then he lifted the belt up with his right hand and swung it down to Bucky’s ass. The brunet jumped a little, when it came into contact, hissing through his teeth. It made a sharp red square, but didn’t break his skin. 

“Think this will teach you, or do you need something more?” Steve asked, letting an impatient tone creep into his voice.

“No, sir, I’ll learn my lesson,” Bucky responded. His voice sounded close to breaking, but not from pain.

Steve hit him twice more with the belt, then put it away. “You’ll be good?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Bucky insisted.

“Good boy.” Steve pet his hair, leaning forward over his ass. His cock brushed Bucky’s entrance, and the brunet keened. Steve didn’t have any lube, and he didn’t know where he’d find any in Germany in 1971, so he settled for spitting into his hand and prepping Bucky with a few fingers. He brushed his fingers over the welts on Bucky’s ass, the serum in his blood already working to heal the bruises. After he worked the third finger into his hole, Bucky stopped him.

“That’s enough, Steve, I’m ready,  _ please _ .”

Steve would’ve reprimanded him for telling him what to do again, but he begged so prettily that Steve couldn’t resist him. “Alright, baby.” He turned him over on the bed so his knees were hanging over the edge and they were facing each other. “Can I fuck you like this?”

Bucky nodded, eyes wide. It made him look young and innocent, even though Steve knew him to be anything but. “So pretty,” he whispered, brushing some of Bucky’s hair out of his face. He stood between Bucky’s legs. The brunet wrapped his ankles loosely around Steve’s knees, pulling him in closer. Steve braced himself with his hands on either side of Bucky’s waist as he lined up, pushing into Bucky’s slick hole slowly. He entered him in small, gradual motions, but Bucky got impatient and tightened his grip on Steve’s legs, pulling himself to the hilt.

“I’m not made of fucking glass, Steve,” Bucky frowned.

Steve was inclined to disagree, but he wasn’t about to say that. Instead, he gripped a little tighter, and moved Bucky off his dick, then slammed back into him. The effort of manhandling him was worth it for the expression on his face.

“H-holy  _ christ _ , Steve, don’t stop,” Bucky begged. Steve didn’t, railing into him mercilessly. Shock waves of pleasure were rushing over him, and he felt like his hands were turning into liquid. All of him felt like it was dissolving, melting away and merging with Bucky. He continued to pull out of Bucky’s ass, until only his tip remained inside, then bottom out with a thrust after every motion.

Bucky was making faces that were positively sinful. His head was thrown back, mouth hung open and slack, soft whimpers escaping his throat. He clutched onto Steve’s wrists, and he was holding tightly enough with his metal arm that Steve knew he would bruise. He didn’t particularly mind; it would be like a bracelet, he thought, that he could look down at and know that he belonged to Bucky.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” he chanted, overwhelmed with the sensation of finally being inside him. It felt like coming home after the longest war, like he could finally put down his sword and rest. It felt like all his fear was turned to ash and scattered in the wind. It felt like the safest place he had ever been, like he was so protected in this moment that nothing could ever make him bleed again. 

Bucky was trembling beneath his hands, muttering in something that could have been Russian, or no language at all. Steve let go of Bucky’s waist on one side, adjusting his grip and palming his stomach. He discovered, with no small degree of delight, that he could hook his thumb into Bucky’s naval and grasp his underbelly with the rest of his fingers, holding onto Bucky’s fat like a handle. 

“Oof,” Bucky huffed out as Steve used his new grip to hold him steady. “I’m still so full, Steve.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Steve asked him, voice cut off by his movements. “Who’s fault is it you’re so full?”

“Mine, mine,” Bucky cried out, despite the fact that Steve had  _ told _ him to finish the quiche, despite the fact that Steve was almost entirely responsible for each glorious pound on his wide frame. “God, I’m getting so big. I’m so hungry all the time, so insatiable.  _ Fuck _ ,” he cried out as Steve brushed his prostate.

“Keep talking like that and I’ll let you come,” Steve instructed, making sure to hit Bucky’s g spot with the next stroke.

“Shit, okay. I-  _ ah _ \- I love eating. I love the way it makes me feel. I like feeling bigger, like being bigger. I like eating foods that are bad for me and making you rub my tummy. I like outgrowing all my clothes and getting so fat my belly has to sit on my legs. I, I want to be  _ fatter _ , Steve, oh fuck-”

Every word went right to Steve’s dick, and he pounded into Bucky like a prayer. His muscles began to spasm, and he could feel Bucky clenching down around his cock, his thoughts becoming less coherent.

“Not yet, Buck,” he urged. “Keep talking, such a good boy for me.”

“Wanna find out how much weight I’ve gained. Wanna gain even more, too. Holy shit. Wanna gain a hundred pounds. Wanna get so  _ big _ for you, Stevie.”

Steve was pretty sure he’d actually died the instant he went back in time, and all of this had been his afterlife, each moment better than the last. “Shit, Buck… want you to, too, baby.” His orgasm was building inside him, but he wanted to take care of Bucky first. “Come, honey, go ahead.”

Bucky released with a cry, his come landing on his own gut and a little on Steve’s chest, too. In a moment of inspiration, Steve pulled out and jacked himself off on Bucky’s belly, too, their come intermingling on the pudgy dome. 

Steve collapsed in exhaustion on the bed beside Bucky. He’d fucked other people, before the war and after, and in the future and during the five years everyone was gone, but he’d always held back- both his strength and his emotions. He hadn’t entirely realized how much he’d been holding back the former until he’d let loose and fucked Bucky as roughly as he could, but the brunet took it like a champ and seemed to appreciate every moment. 

He was crying a little, from exertion or emotions or a mix of the two. He wasn’t worried about it. He knew that if Bucky had seen him gasping for breath trying to walk more than a block back when he had asthma, he could still want him, then not much else could put him off. 

Bucky smiled at him, reaching out with his metal hand to hold Steve’s. His other arm had fattened up along with the rest of his body, and his arm looked skinny and strange in comparison. The red star that HYDRA had painted on his shoulder had faded away in the months that Steve had failed to repaint it, and only a few scratches of red remained.

“I love you,” Bucky told him, and Steve said it back.

Things were different after that, but in the way that Steve could hardly remember a time where they were any other way. They showered together and fell asleep spooning, and Steve would take Bucky out to different restaurants and buy him mountains of food while sneakily holding his hand, and Bucky would wake him up with morning blowjobs. 

After a while, there was no sign of the last three agents, and they decided to move back to Berlin (mostly because they had exhausted the local culinary resources and they needed to give the chefs some time to recover, Bucky joked). HYDRA seemed so quiet in the following year that all their conflict seemed like a dream. Steve had been frequenting the library so often that a librarian he’d started an unlikely friendship with offered him a job, just on weekends, and he took it. Bucky had made friends with a baker down the road, and she made a deal that he could have a fresh batch of doughnuts every morning if he swept the back room. Steve kept in contact with Peggy, giving her as much information as he could, and she kept him updated in turn. HYDRA had withered back into whatever dark chasm they’d grown from, and Steve experienced a peaceful side of life he’d never known. Sometimes the soldier within him would get restless, telling him to fear a fight he couldn’t see, that the grey he found in his beard meant that he was staying too long, that maybe the time suit wouldn’t work if he waited too long. But every time he put his hand in Bucky’s, all their worries faded away. 

Most days, his strongest concern was their homophobic neighbours down the street. The late 70s provided a fortunate entrance of the punk, anti-facist scene, and Bucky shaved one side of his hair and wore black kohl around his eyes. The baker moved away, afraid of the area becoming ‘strange and sketchy’, and the bakery was turned into a rave. One night there, Steve met a guy who sold bondage harnesses. He bought a (very large) leather one for Bucky, and the brunet kissed him on the cheek and wore it proudly (even to places he definitely shouldn’t have worn bondage gear). 

On Steve’s ten year anniversary spent in the past, in 1980, they bought a scale for their little apartment, and Bucky passed 75 pounds past what he’d weighed when Steve broke him out of HYDRA. Bucky had slowed down in actively gaining, but he was happy with his body; happy to be less of a weapon and blend into the crowd (providing the crowd wore  _ The Cure _ t-shirts and thick platform combat boots), and Steve was happy just to be near Bucky. And still HYDRA didn’t make an appearance.

Steve was shaving in the mirror one day, noticing the lines around his eyes and mouth, and thought to himself  _ maybe this is what my life will be like. Maybe I could just stay here forever. _

Professor Hulk had explained time and time again how time travel worked, about intersecting timelines and paradoxes and the time-space continuum. Steve didn’t understand even a quarter of it, but he understood at a base level why they’d been able to kill Thanos. Every change he made in the past created a separate timeline from their original one, and unless he returned the events to their natural order, he’d continue in the new time. Here, in this world, he was still in the ice somewhere up north. But if he continued to live with Bucky past 2012, he’d never join the Avengers and fight the battle of New York, or commit all the collateral damage in Sokovia, or fight Tony in the airport. 

He eyed the drawer that he kept his time suit in. He’d given the world so many years of Captain America. In his own timeline, everything had already been fixed. Here, he was certain the other many capable superheroes of the world could figure everything out on their own. They would have to.

Because Steve Rogers was staying in 1980. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so basically this part of the story is going to continue a little while more, and then (without spoiling the climax) the second part is going to involve Steve and Bucky in the 21st century. My question is, should I keep posting those chapters in this work here and just make it really long, or should I end this work on a cliffhanger and make it into a series, and have the second part as the sequel?   
> Let me know what you think in the comments ^-^


	8. Bucky POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nine years of dating, this have this humiliation kink down pat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets pretty big from here on out. However, concerns about his health aren’t really a thing because of the serum. If 350+ ain’t your thang however, here be dragons  
> Also Steve makes Bucky bleed in this chapter. It’s all very consensual and safe, but you know. Trigger warning

_ West Berlin, 1980 _

 

Bucky struggled to get his leather pants up over his ass. The material had groaned and stretched badly enough when he’d pulled them past his thighs, but this was nearly impossible. He sucked in, hefting the waistband and jiggling as much as he could. Finally, he managed to slip them up to his waist, or as close as he could get. Then he was presented with another problem; there was no well in hell they were going to button.

He faced the mirror. He was truly well and fat, now. There was no denying that. The last time he weighed himself, he was sitting pretty at 294 pounds, and that had been a few months ago. He felt heavier than 300, certainly. He’d had plenty of time to adjust to it, almost a decade of slowly piling on more weight to Steve’s enthusiasm.

_ Think of the devil. _ Steve poked his head into the bathroom. “Buck, are you- ah,” all words left his mouth when he saw the way Bucky’s pants gapped wide and low below the hang of his belly. He came into the room with a predatory smile. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie, I know you really wanted me to wear these.” They were going to one of the gay clubs that night. Bucky was about two hundred pounds off from being one of the skinny twinks that wore torn leather pants and partially see through tops, parading around their daddies in pretty red lipstick and poorly drawn cat eyeliner, but that had never stopped them before.

Steve wore his sleeveless studded jacket. It took Bucky a long time to convince him to wear it out in public, but it suited Steve  _ so well _ , and he could never refuse Bucky anything. 

Steve walked to him and tried to fit one finger into the waistband. “Shit, Buck, we’re gonna have to cut these things off you.” 

Bucky squirmed under his vision. Steve had shaved his beard into a handlebar moustache. Bucky hated it almost as much as he loved sitting on it. “Uh, I guess so.”

“Now why would you even bother putting them on when you  _ knew  _ damn well they wouldn’t fit?”

“I didn’t know! Bucky insisted.

Steve got up close and personal in his space, pressing his hard on against Bucky’s chubby side. “Don’t lie,” he growled.

Bucky would’ve been sporting quite the erection himself if the pants hadn’t been squashing him flat. He’d felt himself getting aroused even as he was squeezing into them. Whenever he wore clothes that were a size too small, he felt himself getting excited.  _ You’re getting so fat. You’re so spoiled. You’re gonna have to keep getting a new wardrobe every few years. You’re gonna grow out of all your favourite clothes. _ He could feel his dick pulsing painfully. He moaned, moving his metal arm down to his dick just for friction.

“I say you could touch yourself?” Steve snapped.

“No, sir,” Bucky replied, taking his hand away.

“That’s right.” Steve eyed the back of his pants, where the stitching strained. “What size waist are those?”

“Uh, 44,” Bucky said weakly. He had to be almost 50 inches around, now that these wouldn’t come close to fitting.

“Mmm,” Steve groaned, rutting against him. “I bet I could fit both my legs in one pant leg.”

Bucky looked up at him, eyes wide. Steve was wearing his platform boots that gave him a three inch advantage. He liked the power play of being taller than Bucky. He’d worn them during sex a few times before, a habit that Bucky detested. ( _ “Shoes on during sex, Steve? Christ, that’s worse than socks.”) _ “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to get out of these,” he breathed.

Steve reached into one of the drawers next to the sink and pulled out a pocket knife. “That’s fine; all I need is one leg.” He laid the cold blade against Bucky’s belly, silently asking. Bucky nodded. “Hold still,” Steve commanded.

Bucky held his breath, shivering. Steve put the dull end of the knife to Bucky’s skin, kneeling and slipping the blade down from Bucky’s fly and along the inseam of his right pants. As the fabric ripped, Bucky’s hard cock bobbed up, restrained only by his cotton boxers. 

Steve tsked. Bucky loved it when he did that; it made him feel like an unruly child. “Getting hard over this, Buck? You should be ashamed, getting too fat for the nice pants I bought you. Aren’t you ashamed, Boy?”

“Y-yes sir,” Bucky responded.

Steve peered up at him from under his lashes. God, he looked so good. Bucky nearly wanted to suggest they abandon going out altogether and just stay home, but tonight was open mic night and Steve may have hinted at a drag performance. “What was that?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir!” Bucky repeated, voice clearer.

Steve held his gaze a beat longer, then returned back to his task. But felt him move the knife around to the back of his pants, the tip of the blade dangerously close to his taint. Steve tapped on one size of his round thighs, motioning for him to spread his legs. He did, and Steve moved around to behind him to cut the other side off him. He pressed a thumb to where Bucky’s crack was exposed above the waistband of the pants. “You’re hanging all out of these, baby. I don’t know how you thought you could get away with wearing these indecent things.” 

Bucky just swallowed, not trusting his voice to not stutter worse than before.

As Steve moved the knife up, the sharp end of the blade had been rotated so it was facing his flesh. “Steve,” he cautioned. 

He felt a sharp prick on his ass, blood welling around the cut and soaking the cotton lining the pocket on his ass. 

“Did I tell you to speak?” Steve asked.

“No, Sir.”

The knife pressed in deeper, and Bucky hissed. “That’s right. I didn’t. Unless you got something important to say, be quiet.”

Steve meant the safeword. They’d messed around with pain before, with belts and bruises and choking, but Steve had never made him bleed. Bucky had been cut enough times to know that the serum caused the wound to heal within days, sometimes hours. 

He said nothing, and Steve continued. “I’m trying to cut these pants off you, Buck, but it’s just so hard when your ass is so goddamn fat.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Bucky’s thigh, letting him know how much he loved his fat ass. “I might slice you a little.” He finished his rip, slicing through the top at the back. “There.” He pulled the one side of the pants off, and they came down much easier than they’d gone on. Bucky stepped out of both sides when Steve got them to the floor. 

The blond stood and held up the left, and more structurally sound, side of the pants. It looked large and wide compared to Steve’s body. Bucky was pretty sure he could fit his whole torso in it, not just his two legs.

“Whaddya say, Buck? Should I try these on? Show you just how fat and spoiled you’re getting?”

“Yes,” Bucky whispered.

Steve leered at him, turning and walking from the bathroom to sit on their bed. They’d changed apartments every couple of years, just to shake any tails. Bucky was glad they’d mostly stayed in Berlin, though. It was a good scene; the queers, the music, the food.

Steve laid on his back, slipping into the pant leg and looking like the world’s buffest and punkest mermaid. Once he’d pulled the leg up to his waist, he swiveled over and stood next to the bed. “Look at that. Room to spare. Your one leg is bigger than both of mine, that’s how fat you are.”

Bucky shuddered. He wasn’t surprised; the only chubby thing on Steve was his dick. He’d continued to work out even in their devoid-of-HYDRA years, finding abandoned factories and lifting cars, or whatever it was that he did to improve his skill. Bucky had the creeping suspicion that Steve did it so that he could continue to lift Bucky as he gained. Even though the serum would probably let Steve lift Bucky easily without working out, it was always nice when he could manhandle all 300 odd pounds of him. 

They’d both grown older in the nine years. Bucky noticed some grey at his temples and lines on his forehead, and sometimes his bones creaked loudly. Steve showed more signs of age, his one hundred and fourteen years of life peppering his hair and lining his face. Bucky absolutely loved every sign of age he could find. To him, it was a symbol that they’d made it, that they’d found a life where they could safely grow old together. That’s all he’d ever wanted. 

“Now what  _ are  _ you going to wear?” Steve posited, disrupting Bucky’s train of thought. 

Bucky turned to view himself from the mirror beyond the bathroom door. He slapped his ass lightly, grinning at Steve’s reflection. “I dunno, I kind of thought this was a good look.” He was wearing nothing but his boxers and a shiny holographic tank top with  _ schlampe _ written in a gothic font, proclaiming his sluttiness.

Steve grinned. “As much as I’d love that, I think even  _ Die Rote Nacht _ has its limits.”  _ The Red Night  _ was their favourite club- it was underground, it played the best new music, and the rules were loose. Not so loose as to let Bucky wear no bottoms at all. Maybe if his underwear was made out of leather, then it could pass as booty shorts.

As it was, Steve stood and pulled something out of a drawer. “I don’t know if you’ll like this, or if it’ll even fit,” Steve stated, his back to Bucky. “I saw it in a shop window a while ago and I bought it for ya. Figured I’d save it for a special occasion.” He turned around and revealed the article; it was a pleated plaid skirt, like something a catholic schoolgirl might wear. The waist was broader than even Steve’s shoulders, held out straight, and it just might fit.

Bucky chuckled. “What’s this, you want me to look Irish?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s mocking the crushing standard of conformity of a uniform. It’s  _ punk _ , Buck.”

Bucky walked and took the skirt from Steve’s hands. “It’s something, that’s for sure.” He held it out in front of him, unsure how to proceed. He decided on stepping into it, one leg and then the other. It was a good length; short enough to be cute, long enough to not reveal the bottoms of his boxers. There was a zipper on the side, and he pulled it up so it grasped his waist snugly. “How do I look?” he gave Steve a little twirl.

Steve had that hungry look in his eyes again.  _ They both couldn’t get enough of their favourite dish, _ Bucky thought to himself.  _ Except mine just happens to be actual food. _

“You look perfect, baby.” He held out a hand and Bucky took it, spinning into his arms. Steve dipped him deeply, and Bucky almost felt like a girl from the forties, dancing with his best fella. He thought about how often Steve liked to dress him up, liked to see him in makeup and pretty clothes. He thought of Peggy, and how different Steve’s life could have been if he’d chosen her.

Bucky stepped away from Steve for a moment. At the beginning, he’d been afraid to voice all his concerns, but Steve had taught him that his worries were always important. “Steve, I… the skirt is beautiful. But, you know… I can’t be Peggy for you.”

Steve’s face fell. “Baby, is that what you think? That you’re my second choice?” 

Bucky didn’t respond.

Steve crouched down, fixing his skirt where the material had flipped over. “I don’t want you to be Peggy. I wanted her to be you, actually,” he added with a wry smile, looking up into Bucky’s eyes.

“Really,” Bucky said, not quite a question, not quite believing him. He’d spent a long time worrying that he was holding Steve back from what he should be doing. He still felt it sometimes, when they were protesting around the wall, when Steve’s eyes were lit with a righteous fury.  _ Maybe if Steve wasn’t here with me, he’d be off saving the world. Maybe it’s my fault. _

“Of course. You don’t see the similarity? Brunet? Curvy? Looks great it red lipstick?”

Bucky smiled a little, not feeling it reach his eyes. 

Steve took his hand and stood. “I’ve been in love with you since I was about thirteen years old, Buck. But hell, I had no idea how to express that back then. I don’t think we even could’ve.” Bucky thought back to all those bullies who would give Steve bloody eyes just because they suspected he was a fairy. Steve was right; they didn’t need a secret relationship to hide on top of all that. “I met Peg, and she reminded me of you so much, Buck, I-” Steve’s voice broke, and he swallowed and tried again. “I was always looking for you. I always have been. It doesn’t matter where I am or where I go. It’s not home unless you’re there.” He kissed the top of Bucky’s head and he realized he was crying. Steve swiped a thumb over his tears. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Bucky whispered.

“If you don’t like the skirt, you can take it off. I love you for  _ you _ , Buck. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Bucky told him, and he meant it right back.

 

\--

Steve had kissed Bucky’s cheek as he stood and whispered _I’ll be back_ ten minutes ago. Someone was on stage singing a very flat rendition of _Tainted Love._ _Die Rote Nacht_ had a karaoke machine with a variety of songs for the patrons to choose from. After the singer had finished his last off-beat chorus, he stepped down off the stage. Another song was already queued up, and the beginning notes of _I Will Survive_ started. Bucky felt his heart began to hammer faster in his chest as Steve walked out from behind a curtain.

He wasn’t in full drag; he didn’t shave his moustache or change most of his outfit, but he was wearing a sparkly pink jacket covered in sequins, a fringed honey brown wig, and a face full of makeup with purple eyeshadow and magenta lipstick. 

He winked at Bucky, walking out on his platform heels and adjusting the mic. He’d painted the nails on his left hand pink. 

“ _ At first I was afraid, I was petrified _ ,” Steve began, surrounded by the noise of hoots and cheers in the dark room. Bucky grinned, and someone lightly punched his shoulder. The two of them were well known at the club, and Bucky doubted there was a single person there who didn’t know them as a couple.

As the first verse continued, Bucky’s eyes were caught by something familiar in the crowd. The idea was so jarring he thought he might’ve imagined it for a moment; it had been months since his last panic attack, but he was always on the lookout. He scanned the crowd. The blue and red lights from above weren’t exactly helping; even if he’d seen who he thought he had, he could’ve easily missed him in the sea of faces. 

Then, he spotted him again. He was wearing sunglasses, his head was shaved, and he was wearing a dark overcoat buttoned up to his chin, but Bucky would know that cruel smile anywhere; it was the Red One. 

A quick scan of the rest of the bar revealed two other people that didn’t belong. Bucky didn’t recognize them, exactly; but everything about their demeanor shouted that they were HYDRA agents. 

Bucky whipped his head back over to look at Steve, trying to scream at him with his eyes. Steve noticed his nervous expression and responded with a raised eyebrow. Bucky nodded his head in the direction of the Red One. 

Steve sang “ _ I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face _ ” and hopped off the stage, stepping into the crowd. Twinks and bears alike grinned at him, draping beaded necklaces and other paraphernalia around his head. Steve ignored all of them, eyes focused on the one he wanted. He walked through the crowd until he reached his target.

The Red One was sitting at a table, casually sipping a beer, and Steve stood before him. It was a moment before the agent realized he’d stopped, and he looked up at Steve in surprise. Steve gave him a saccharine smile, sitting sideways over his lap and draping an arm over the Red One’s shoulders. Bucky was surprised at Steve’s cleverness; drawing attention to a man undercover who had no idea how to play gay was the perfect defense. Maybe Steve was actually getting wiser with age. 

The Red One looked panicked, trying to shove Steve off of him. The other patrons jeered and teased him before he stood and briskly walked to the bathroom. Bucky checked the corners to see the other two agents follow him. He met Steve’s eyes and nodded. Bucky crossed the room and stood guard outside the door, preventing them from leaving while also watching Steve finish his song. After he disappeared behind the curtain amidst applause, Bucky felt a nervous wave flood through him. It passed when Steve came back out the side door, sans jacket and wig. He hadn’t bothered to remove the makeup. 

Bucky’s facade crashed as Steve embraced him. “Steve, they’re here for me, they’ve found me,” he sobbed. 

Steve held him so tightly he thought he might crack a rib if it wasn’t for the serum, and Bucky felt a little better. “No, they’re not,” he soothed.

“Yes, they are! They came to take me back,” Bucky started. Steve stepped back and held his shoulders.

“Bucky, they can’t be. There’s no way they’d recognize you. They’re here for me, and we’ll use that to our advantage.” 

Bucky realized that Steve was right. Even he didn’t recognize himself, most of the time. He certainly didn’t look like the Winter Soldier. It wasn’t the Red One’s MO to wait around if he had spotted Bucky; he likely would have come up from behind and pulled him away before anyone else saw. He’d only been looking at Steve, so they had to assume that he’d only seen Steve.

Steve cupped his cheek. “Are you okay? Can you do this?” 

Bucky nodded. On stage, someone else started singing, but to his ears it sounded like it was coming from miles away. “Yeah. Yes. I’m good.”

“Okay. Go into the bathroom. Keep your eyes down, see where they are. Then tell me and we’ll get them.”

Bucky nodded again, focusing on nothing but Steve’s instruction. He went through the swinging door. He was focusing on the tile, letting his hair fall over his face. Once he reached the sink, he looked up quickly, scanning the room. No one was at the sinks or the urinals. There were two stalls, and Bucky crouched down as best he could, but they appeared empty. Straightening up with a groan, he walked over to the larger stall and quietly pushed the door open. No one was inside. He couldn’t exactly picture three HYDRA agents huddling in the smaller stall, and when he pushed the door to that one open, it was empty as well. 

He exited the bathroom. Steve was standing right outside, stance ready to fight. “They’re not in there. They must have escape through a vent or something.”

Steve drew his brows together, thinking. “Okay. We know they’re after me. We can assume they haven’t seen you, and we can assume they know I know who they are. So, how about I go back to the apartment alone and wait for them to come- then you tail me, and when you see them try to get me, you attack. They won’t think to look for you, since we only have the one bed.”

“Steve, I’m not using you as  _ bait _ ,” Bucky exclaimed.

“Buck, please. It’s the smart thing.”

Bucky knew he was right, but he hated it. He wondered again what the future must be like for Steve to have changed so much.  _ His  _ Steve- the Steve he knew from 1945- would have chased them without a second thought, running after them with no goal but to find them. 

He titled his face up and kissed Steve. “You better be careful,” he growled.

 

\--

Bucky sat on top of the building across the street from their apartment. It had been a whole different experience, climbing while fat. He was still plenty strong, but his belly got in the way, and he wasn’t as flexible. Eventually, he’d managed to make it to the top, and he had his back to an air duct, watching Steve through binoculars. He’d gone to sleep about an hour ago. Bucky couldn’t be sure if he was faking it or not. They’d left the club at two different times and gone home two different ways, and as far as Bucky could tell, neither of them had been followed. 

Bucky’s stomach was a mess of nerves. A thousand different scenarios played in his head; all the ways it could go wrong. 

_ Please _ , he silently begged to Steve, watching his chest rise and fall.  _ Please. I can’t lose you now, not after everything we’ve been through.  _

Suddenly, Steve’s breathing stilled. Bucky jerked the binoculars around, looking for something. Then, he spotted a shadow move through the apartment. Steve must’ve heard them come in and held his breath to alert Bucky. 

As quickly as he could, Bucky jumped from the roof, landing on the street three storeys below. There was a fire escape outside their building, and although it was pulled up from the street, Bucky jumped and caught the lowest rung of the ladder. He was up and at their window in less than a minute, quickly assessing the situation. The two agents he’d spotted at the club were closing in on Steve, guns drawn. Bucky took his pistol from his waistband where it had been carelessly shoved and raised it, shooting twice through the glass. The shots rang out loud in the quiet street, a dog barking in the distance. 

Steve sat bolt upright as Bucky came through the ruined window. “Did you get them?”

Bucky crouched on one knee, checking the agents’ pulse with two fingers. Steve stood from the bed and helped Bucky back up. “Of course,” Bucky responded, trying not to let it show how rattled he was. 

Steve nodded, scrubbing the back of his neck. He watched the blood slowly seep out from beneath the agents’ heads, staining the colour block carpet. “Fuck, I guess we better leave Berlin, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. “I always wanted to visit Munich.”

 

\--

They took a train that night, leaving everything behind except for a small duffel back with Steve’s time suit and the clothes on their backs. Steve wanted to talk about it, Bucky could tell, but he was absent-minded, staring out the window. He couldn’t get the Red One’s eyes out of his mind; couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he’d seen him. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked him for the third time in an hour.

Bucky turned to meet his eyes briefly and gave him a smile he knew was nowhere near convincing. “Of course,” he replied before looking back out the window at the city slipping away into countryside. 

Steve just let out a tense exhale, not willing to press Bucky. 

“I just need some air,” Bucky posited, standing and gripping into the back of Steve’s chair as the car jostled. He walked through the aisle, not making eye contact with any of the other passengers. They’d make it to Munich before the dawn, so it wasn’t necessary for them to take an overnight train. 

Bucky reached the caboose, thinking of another train ride a lifetime ago. He was alone in the car, and he rested his forearms on the railing, breathing in the open air. “Goddammit,” he swore, pulling a cigarette pack from his back pocket. He hadn’t smoked in forever; not since the forties, but while they were waiting for their train he’d picked some up in the terminal shop. He held the cigarette in his metal hand, thumbing the lighter on with his right. It took a few tries in the slipstream of the train. He got it eventually, the tip of the cigarette lighting the room in flame before dying down to a red ember. Before it went out, Bucky caught a reflection of the room behind him in his metal palm. “ _ Привет,  _ comrade,” he said to the Red One without turning around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drag!Steve’s performance is inspired by a performance Chris Evans did for the show the Opposite Sex. If, by some reason, you haven’t seen the clip, I highly suggest you google ‘chris evans i will survive’ for a very entertaining 3 minutes and 9 seconds ;)


	9. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA comes for their Asset.

Steve was bouncing his leg nervously, thinking of a conversation he’d had with Natasha, before.... Well. 

_ It could be a symptom of anxiety, you doing that all the time, _ she’d pointed out.

_ Who wouldn’t be anxious, half the world fucking gone? _ He deadpanned.

She’d just given him a wry smile, ignoring the question.  _ You should get tested. It’s not good, a group counselor setting a bad example by not prioritizing his own mental health. _

It seemed asinine, getting diagnosed with anxiety after all that happened. Maybe he was setting a bad example, but it  _ helped _ , sitting in a circle and helping people figure their lives out. It had always been easier for him to help other people with their problems. He was a strong proponent of the theory  _ one improves themselves by improving their community _ , and maybe that was a little bit of the Uncle Sam still in him, a mythical man on a poster proclaiming how serving others was the only noble pursuit. Steve liked to think that he’d shaken those principles in the following years, that he’d gotten better at realizing his own needs were just as important as others, but it was just so goddamn  _ hard _ without Bucky. 

_ I should give him his space, _ he thought to himself.  _ If he wants to talk to me, he’ll talk. If he wants time alone, then I need to respect that. _

And he did. But he hated it when Bucky kept thoughts to himself. Nervous energy was filling him like a cup, and he stood and walked in the direction Bucky had gone before it could overflow.

He didn’t see Bucky in any of the cars, and eventually only the caboose was left. Before he entered, he heard low voices. He ducked beneath the glass pane of the door, listening.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,  _ сука _ ,” an unknown male voice was saying in a thick slavic accent. Steve recognized the word from when Bucky had begged him to use it, slate blue eyes big and pleading. Steve could never refuse him anything, and he’d agreed. Now the word turned his stomach sour, the burning heat of hatred rising through him.  _ Bitch. _ “You’ve gotten so fat.”

There was a pause, and then Bucky’s response. “I recognized you. Same ugly face as always.” His voice had the high pitch it got when he was acting twice as confident as he really felt. 

They hadn’t told each other everything through the years. Steve didn’t tell Bucky anything more about the future than he had to, and Bucky wouldn’t tell Steve everything about the past. But Steve wasn’t stupid. He’d pieced things together, about an ex-handler of Bucky’s. He’d asked Peg for intel on more than one occasion, but without a name, there was little she could do. Bucky either didn’t know the name or wouldn’t tell Steve, but the blond could tell by the panicked edge to his voice that this was that man. 

There was a sharp slap, and Steve had to stop himself from bursting into the room.  _ Think, Rogers. _ HYDRA had to keep Bucky restrained with several tons of weight. Bucky was standing completely free in the next room; if he wanted the man to be dead, he would’ve already. He was waiting for something. 

“You  _ don’t _ speak to me with such a tone,  _ сука _ ,” the man growled. Bucky was silent. “I saw your pretty little fucktoy,” he continued, voice coming from a slightly different direction like he was circling Bucky. “Does he touch you like I did?” he whispered. Steve strained to pick up his voice below the rattle of the train. “Does he know how to hurt you like I did?”

Steve’s throat was dry, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. He felt sick. He couldn’t listen to much more of this. What could Bucky possibly be waiting for?

Bucky replied, but all Steve could make out was the low timbre of his voice. 

The man chuckled in response. “Да,  _ моя маленькая шлюха _ .” Steve thought he recognized the words  _ little whore _ . “I’ll leave your blond beauty alone.”

Steve realized what was happening with a blinding fury. Bucky was  _ bargaining,  _ trading himself for Steve’s freedom. He stood and kicked the door, sending it flying off its hinges. It fell to the floor of the caboose, and Steve stood over it. “Get the  _ fuck _ away from him,” he growled.

The man just chuckled as if Steve was no more threatening than a child. He had a large scar over his cheek that Steve hadn’t noticed before. He wondered if Bucky had given it to him. He looked back down to Bucky, who was kneeling on the floor in a position of submission. “Do we have an agreement?” he asked.

Steve looked to Bucky, but the assassin wouldn’t meet his eyes.  _ Please, don’t do this, Buck, _ he begged in his head.  _ Please trust me to make my own choice. Please don’t take this from me. _

Bucky flicked his eyes up to meet Steve’s. “Duck,” he said, and leapt for Steve. 

Steve smacked back onto the platform of the last car as Bucky’s weight fell onto him. Before he could react, Bucky pulled the lever to separate the caboose. It pulled from the other cars with a screech, but kept pace with them. “...what?” Steve began.

Bucky silenced him with a wave of his hand. As Steve watched the ground, it fell away to a large cliff and Steve realized the train was crossing a high bridge over a deep ravine. Bucky held onto Steve with his flesh arm, gripping onto the railing of the car. Steve felt the force a moment later; looking backward, he could only see the track curve severely behind them. The train was going around a sharp turn, and the caboose, set free from the other cars, wasn’t able to turn smoothly, and jumped off the track with a grinding crunch. Steve watched it plummet to the ravine below.

“How does it feel,  _ сука _ ?” Bucky spat. 

After the train had successfully passed the other side of the bridge, once again on flat and even ground, the two of them stood and returned to their seats. Steve was shaking lightly. Half of him wanted to shout at Bucky for not telling him his plans, but the half that prevented him from doing so was the half that trusted Bucky. That half would always win. 

He’d trusted Bucky that his submission was only a ploy, and Bucky had trusted Steve to hold on and let the car fall. The plan could’ve failed in a hundred different ways, but it hadn’t; and both of them were safe. 

Bucky was looking out the window again, but his eyes were focused and alert, unlike before. Steve was beaming from head to toe, more in love with his partner than he had been even the day before. If that was possible.

Bucky caught his dopey grin, and smirked over at him. “What?” he asked, poking Steve’s leg with his toe.

“Just you,” Steve replied. They couldn’t kiss, not in plain view of the other passengers, but Steve kicked lightly at Bucky’s ankle.

 

\--

They booked a hotel for a few nights in Munich. Now that the last of the German HYDRA was gone, they could return to Berlin. Or New York. Wherever they wanted. 

As soon as they had their privacy, away from the eyes of HYDRA agents or train passengers or hotel staff, they fell into each other’s arms, kissing and tumbling onto the bed.

Steve held Bucky’s hands by the wrists above his head, kissing his neck. Bucky was muttering something in Russian, and Steve didn’t bother to try and decipher his meaning. 

“My boy, my sweet boy,” he hushed, pulling back for a moment to look at Bucky’s face, which was currently screwed up in a playfully disgusted expression. “What?”

“You know me better than that,” Bucky replied, reaching up to kiss him again.

Steve would’ve thought that Bucky would want it gentle after the run-in with his ex-handler. “Uh…” he stammered.

“You know what I want,” Bucky whispered, lips against his ear. Steve sat up on Bucky’s thighs, stopping dead. Bucky flopped against the pillow, huffing. “What?” he whined.

“I don’t want to call you that, Buck. Not after  _ he  _ did.” The word still echoed in his head. He’d known how they must have treated Bucky. But it was different  _ seeing _ it, and he couldn’t bring himself to touch Bucky with anything less than the most delicate and loving embrace. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Is that your problem? You hear the Red One call me bitch and you touch me like I’m made of glass?” He squirmed under Steve, and the blond swung his left leg off and sat to the side. Bucky sat up, crossing his arms and squishing his fat pecs together. Steve wanted to bury his face in them, but he reminded himself there were more important matters at hand. “I thought you trusted me more than that.”

“I  _ do _ trust you, Buck,” Steve reassured him, a hand on his shoulder.

Bucky swatted it away. “So trust me now. If I say that I want you to fuck me roughly, you have to believe me. We have a safeword for a reason. I don’t want your pity or your feather-light touches. I want you to bruise me.”

Steve’s cock jumped even now. Bucky was right, but he didn’t like it. “God, Buck, I…” He looked away, to the patterned wallpaper of the room. “I just don’t like the idea that no one’s ever treated you nice, that even now… I just want you to know that I can love you soft, okay?” 

Bucky tilted Steve’s chin with his metal hand until they were making eye contact again. “I know you can. It’s not that. I didn’t like what he did to me. It was rape. I like what you do to me. I consent to all of it, don’t I?” Steve nodded slowly. “So there. It’s like… I’m letting you do to me what I didn’t want him to.”

Steve thought over it for a moment. It might not have been the best of logic, but who was he to judge a person’s coping mechanisms? “Okay,” he relented. “I don’t want to think I’m just another Handler hurting you.”

Bucky kissed him very softly, just the lightest brush of his plush lips against Steve’s. It nearly made Steve cry, how gentle it was, yet how much emotion there was behind it. “You’re not. You’re the best Handler I could have.”

Steve kissed him back, with more force. Bucky sank back onto the bed, Steve bracing his soft body with his own toned one. He dropped his head down to Bucky’s soft thighs, kissing them and rubbing his moustache over the tender skin. Bucky was whimpering and twisting under his touch, and Steve played with the idea of growing out his beard again. He pictured how pretty Bucky’s fat thighs would look all pink and raw from beard burn. 

The night ended after Steve spanked Bucky. He only used his hand, but the assassin was crying and moaning by the end of it. Steve blew him, and then they went to sleep.

They moved back to Berlin (again) after about a week, closer to the first hotel they’d stayed at in the city. It was almost like home; the wall visible from their window.

It still felt almost like home even when demolition on the wall began nine years later. They held hands and watched as it came down. Steve picked up a piece of rubble and put it in his pocket. It felt like a victory. 

They looked around the crowd, to the faces of happy Germans. Steve saw two men run and embrace each other, standing over the ruins and weeping. He clutched Bucky’s hand a little tighter. 

Christmas in Berlin was his favourite season. The city seemed lighter after that, and 1989 would be his favourite winter for years to come. The entire town was alive with celebration. A soft snow blanketed the buildings on Christmas Eve, and he and Bucky stayed in and exchanged presents. Steve had bought them both two simple gold bands. While it wasn’t the big wedding he dreamed they could someday have, the look in Bucky’s eyes told him it was enough.The holiday the following year was just as wonderful, and Bucky had stacked on another twenty pounds during the cold months. 

Steve was so goddamn slap-happy all the time. It was more than a vacation; it felt like retiring, like everything he’d fought so hard to keep was finally won. Every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of his duffel bag where it was shoved in the corner of his closet. The future seemed like another life, so distant and remote. 

Early December of 1991 he was planning his Christmas present to Bucky. He was crouching in front of his open closet door, watching the dust settle onto the faded canvas of the bag, motes illuminated by the single bulb. He remembered one of their train rides before, where he’d promised Bucky that he’d return to the future after all the HYDRA agents were dead. Both he and Bucky had watched the caboose containing the last German HYDRA agent fall to the ground, but Steve had known long before then he wasn’t going to return. 

He would fold it up and put it in a box and give it to Bucky. He could picture the man’s confused expression upon seeing it before Steve would cup his cheek.  _ I’m staying here with you, Buck, _ he imagined himself saying before they could destroy it together. 

Bucky came into the room behind him, the wood creaking under his heavy footfall. Steve sighed and stood up.

Bucky stepped into his space, letting his fat tummy rest in the hollow of Steve’s back. “Can’t pick an outfit, Old Man?”

Steve snorted at the nickname. They were going out to dinner that night, and he’d gone to get dressed while Bucky straightened his hair. “No,” he retorted, but he said it with a smile. He pulled a black turtleneck sweater and a charcoal sweater out, holding them out in front of them and turning to silently ask Bucky’s opinion with a raised brow.

“Very nouveau riche,” Bucky remarked, pinching Steve’s ass.

“Good nouveau riche or bad nouveau riche?” 

Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “The fact that you even have to ask pains me.” He kissed Steve’s cheek before turning away. “Wear it.”

Steve shrugged, still not understanding which one Bucky meant. The brunet was wearing his usual timeless classic; leather jacket over white t-shirt and light wash jeans. The various items of the outfit had been switched out over the years, of course, to accommodate all 350 pounds of him, but Steve would always see the dashing boy he’d been in the forties. Well, if he’d doubled in size.

“How much did you weigh in 1942, Buck?” Steve asked, suddenly curious.

“How the fuck should I remember that?” Bucky quipped, his voice coming from the kitchen as he rummaged through the fridge. “I can hardly remember most of the sixties.” 

Steve followed his voice to find him munching on some cookie dough Steve had left to set overnight. He snatched the batter in cling wrap from Bucky, making a face. “Don’t eat that. It’s got raw eggs in it.”

Bucky grinned at him, chin doubling sweetly. “About 175.”

Steve nodded, sweeping a crumb from where it clung to the fabric above Bucky’s plush chest. “And what do you weigh now?”

Bucky shrugged. “The scale maxed at 310. What are you saying, pal?”

Steve grabbed the plush fat of his underbelly with one hand, nudging his shirt up with the other. Caught on the firm curve above Bucky’s belly button, it stayed up, revealing the heavy swell of his tummy. “Think you weigh twice what you did?”

Bucky’s grin told him he had Steve pegged. “If I don’t now, I sure will after dinner.”

Steve laughed, dropping Bucky’s lovehandle and watching his gut wobble. “Who says I’m letting you pig out? Maybe I oughta put you on a diet. Gonna be too fat for the booth.” They were regulars at their favourite restaurant. Last week, Bucky’s belly, full from all the Italian, had just about nudged up against the edge of the table. 

Bucky shrugged. “So we’ll get a table.”

“You’ll spill over the chair.” Steve leaned over across his belly to kiss him. 

“You love it,” Bucky whispered against his lips. 

“God, I really do,” Steve moaned, unable to play around for too long.

After a heated moment of kissing later, he pulled away. “We should stop,” he said breathlessly, “before I have a problem.” He looked down to his tented pants with a wry smile. “Don’t want to ruin my getup.” 

Bucky laughed, tugging on either side of Steve’s blazer, even though it was already straight. “No, of course not.” 

The restaurant was only a few blocks away, so they bundled up in scarves and wool hats and walked. Steve held the door open for Bucky, and he didn’t care at all who saw. They sat in the booth by the corner, and although Bucky still fit, it looked like there was only an inch or two to spare. 

After the waiter took their drink order, he took their coats to the rack in the foyer. When he returned, Bucky wasn’t there. 

He sipped his water, looking at the artwork around them. After almost ten minutes, he began to worry, but Bucky returned and sat next to him instead of across.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, scooting over to allow more room for Bucky.

“Fine,” Bucky responded. He was lying. He never said  _ fine _ . 

“What time does the train leave?” Steve asked.

After the incident in  _ Die Rote Nacht, _ they’d developed a system to talk about HYDRA undercover. One of them would ask what time a train leaves. If the other answered an hour with a half on the end- 10:30, or 2:30- that meant that they’d spotted an agent of HYDRA and they weren’t safe. But if the answer was an even hour, the coast was clear. 

“Four o’clock,” Bucky answered tersely, reading the menu. Steve didn’t know why. He always ordered the same thing. 

Steve sighed in relief. Even if all the German HYDRA agents were gone, there was always the possibility an agent from Siberia could discover them. 

“I just wanted to sit next to you,” he added, quieter. 

“Okay.” 

“Steve…” Bucky started, before trailing off.

“Yes?” He looked over and realized Bucky was crying, a tear rolling down his fat cheek.

“I love you. These have been the best twenty years of my life, you know that. Nothing else will ever come close. Whatever happens.”

Steve was speechless. “I… Are you  _ sure _ it’s 4 o’clock, Buck?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, resting his right elbow on the table and scrubbing at his face. He muttered something, but Steve didn’t hear him. He wished he could sit across him and see his expression. It was hard for him to angle himself any better in the cramped space. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Bucky removed his hand. “Promise me something, please?”

Steve wanted to respond  _ tell me what it is first _ , but he knew Bucky would only tell him to trust him. And he did. “I promise.”

“Promise that you’ll just let it happen.” 

“Buck.” He clutched his flesh arm, fingers sinking in to the fat around his bicep. “I can’t do that, not if-- not if it’s going to put you at harm.”

Bucky met his eyes. His slate ones were clear and piercing, a part of them shut off. Steve knew he was trying to be strong. He didn’t want him to. “Then I’ll have to ask you to leave, Steve. You can stay, but only if you promise. Otherwise you have to go home.”

“I  _ can’t _ let… I can’t. I can’t watch that. I can’t watch it happen, I can’t, I…” Steve felt panic rising in his throat. He’d let so many awful things happen. That was the curse of the past; he’d watched so many things happen, on the news or in the street and did nothing. Every time, his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched in his mouth.  _ It’s all for Bucky. You’re doing this because it’s worth it, to stay here with Bucky. Things have to happen exactly like before. _

“You’re a good man, Steve,” Bucky whispered, and it broke his heart.

“You can’t…” Steve started, but he had no idea how he was going to end the sentence.

“I know it’s killing you. You shouldn’t have to choose. I’ll see you again, okay? You said it before.”

He didn’t want Bucky to make the hard choice. He didn’t want Bucky to protect him. He’d been trying to make it easy for him. The whole time, all he wanted to do was make it easy. 

“Let’s just enjoy dinner, okay?”

Steve couldn’t. The food tasted like dust in his mouth. He shoved his barely-touched plate away from him on the table. Bucky finished it, but he couldn’t even bring himself to enjoy that.

“When are they coming?” he asked, voice rough after almost twenty minutes of silence. 

Bucky wiped his mouth with the napkin, then folded it and place it on his empty plate. “As soon as we leave.”

Steve knew how Bucky was. The moment Steve left the room, they would’ve seen him. He would’ve gone to the bathroom to get them away from everyone else. He would’ve made a deal.  _ I’ll go with you quietly. Just don’t hurt him, okay? I promise, I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt Steve. _

This was his fault. If he’d just left Bucky alone after he’d broken him out, he would’ve kept running. If he’d returned to the future as soon as they’d escaped, Bucky wouldn’t be attached to him. He wouldn’t have leverage. He wouldn’t have anything he’d need to protect. 

“Hey.” Bucky’s sharp tone forced Steve to look at him. “Don’t do that, okay? Don’t do the thing where you blame everything on yourself. Things had to happen this way. I don’t know why, but we have to believe they did.”

Steve believed that once. 

“You took the choice away from me.” He wasn’t mad at Bucky, not really. He hated himself for taking it out on him.

Bucky rubbed his back, his hand comforting and strong. “The choice was never yours, Stevie.” 

Steve’s anger broke like a storm, fading away and leaving the steady rain of loss. He half turned in the booth and threw his arms around Bucky as best he could. “I love you.”

Bucky held him for five minutes, maybe more. “You can stay in here if you want to.” 

“How can I just  _ stay inside  _ while-” Steve’s voice choked. 

Bucky sighed. His eyes jumped between either of Steve’s. “They’d follow us if we ran. They’d find us if we hid. They’d defeat us if we fought. I know there isn’t a single fight in the whole world you’d stand down from.” Steve thought of their fight in the future, where he threw down his shield and refused to hurt Bucky.  _ Then finish it. Cause I’m with you-- _ “But I’m asking you to. Please, stay inside.”

Steve nodded his agreement. Bucky shuffled out of the booth and stood. Steve couldn’t turn to watch him leave. 

He sat for another half hour or so. The waiter came and gave him the cheque and he paid. When he retrieved his coat from the rack, he saw Bucky’s was gone. He walked back to their apartment. He looked all along the street, but there was no sign of anything. HYDRA never left any signs. 

He was in the shower, wondering if he should go back to the future now or wait a few days, when he heard a sound in the apartment. 

He shut off the water and ran from the bathroom, wet feet slipping on the tile. “Buck!” He exclaimed. “What--”

Sitting on his bed was the Red One. Steve stopped dead, not even caring that he was naked. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

The Red One nodded. “I told James to give you no indication that I was alive. I assumed you’d be able to guess.”

Steve crossed his arms. The Red One was unarmed, as best he could see. “I hope you’re not planning on killing me with your bare hands.”

The Red One just smirked. “Please, Captain.” Steve bristled at the nickname. “How do you think I survived the fall?” 

_ The other Winter Soldiers. _ In the future, none of the others were alive, but he hadn’t guessed the Red One could be another Asset. “I can get you out. Whatever they’ve done to you, it can be reversed. Whatever you’ve done, it isn’t your fault-” he tried.

“What makes you think I don’t like it?” The Red One asked, titling his head. 

Steve knew it was a last-ditch attempt, anyway. It would make him feel better when he killed the Red One, knowing he had a chance for mercy and he refused. 

It was easy, pathetically so. Even Bucky had only barely come close to killing Steve, and as far as he knew, he was the best HYDRA had ever managed. The Red One lie dead on the floor, face purple from strangling. Steve got his pistol from the underwear drawer and shot him once in the head and once in the heart just to make sure. 

He grabbed the duffel bag with his time suit and put it on in the bathroom. Overtop it, he wore Bucky’s trench coat from where it hung on the back of the door. He took everything else that was important and left the hotel, booking a ticket to Siberia. 

Bucky asked him to stay in the restaurant, but he didn’t say he couldn’t bust him out. He had before and he would again. 

He was captured the moment he landed in Russia. He was passing through security when several agents escorted him to a room. A man came in and handcuffed him. Steve broke the cuffs easily and punched the man, breaking his nose. Three other men came in and held Steve down while better restraints were placed on him. A bag was thrown over his head and he was tossed in the back of some vehicle. When the bag was taken from him, he was in a dark cell. But he wasn’t alone. 

A large shadow rose before him, blocking out the light.  _ “Soldat. Ubey yego,” _ a voice commanded from a speaker somewhere on the ceiling.

“Bucky?” Steve chanced. On one hand, he didn’t think HYDRA would be so stupid as to put him in a cell with the very man he was trying to find. On the other, it was exactly their type of irony to have Bucky be the one to kill him.

The figure stepped closer, a slice of light illuminating his grey-blue eyes. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he spat, aiming a gun at Steve’s forehead.

Steve reached down to his wrist and pressed the button, already calibrated to take him back to 2023.

He knew the rest. He didn’t have to be there to see it. He’d been reconditioned, the last twenty years wiped from his mind. Ten days after Steve left, he killed Tony Stark’s parents. 

Steve ended up slightly off target. All the time the time suit spent in storage must have put off the coordinates a little; he was back about a week before he’d left, an hour or two away from Stark’s house. He was glad. It gave him some time to process.

He was angry. Angry at Bucky for not trying something else,  _ anything  _ else, angry at himself for not saving him, angry at HYDRA for taking everything from them over and over. 

His anger didn’t last. He just  _ missed _ Bucky. He was tired of staying in hotels, of hiding their love, of keeping secrets. 

Twenty minutes before he left, he made his way to Stark’s house and sat on the park bench. Everyone was too involved in the test to pay attention to him, and he was too far away for them to hear any noise. He looked over the quiet lake and heard the noise of the machine powering up, and Sam’s confused outburst when he didn’t return five seconds later.

He heard Bucky speak next, his heart lurching at the familiar sound. It appeared nothing had changed; Stark was dead, the world was saved, Bucky was deconditioned (and about a hundred and fifty pounds lighter), and Sam was still a nosy bastard.

“Wanna tell me about her?” He nodded down at the band on Steve’s finger. Steve looked over at Bucky, where he stood next to the platform. His hands were in his pockets, but Steve bet he was wearing the ring. 

“No,” Steve responded. “I don’t think I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it! I hoped you liked the ending. Steve is a good twenty years younger here than how old he is at the end of Endgame, but you can still imagine it happened this way if you want it to. I’ll be posting the first chapter of the sequel next Saturday ^-^ That one might be significantly shorter- I’m thinking 10k of feedist porn just to round (ha ha) it all out.   
> Fun fact: this entire story in my google docs is 69 pages >:)

**Author's Note:**

> For research, I read the Wikipedia page on History of Germany (1945-1990) and called it a day. For the Russian and German translations (which I do not speak), I used Google Translate.  
> If I made a mistake anywhere, please feel free to let me know in the comments! Come find me on tumblr @easily-suede, too ^-^


End file.
